Enchantment
by UsuakariTOT
Summary: Egypt is a land devoid of magic. Sold into slavery and haunted by his brother's death, Malik understands this. The gods are dead. Myths have lost all meaning. Where, then, is he to turn? Certainly some hope still burns between the desert and the sky!
1. We Are Nothing

**Enchantment**

**Chapter One: **_**We are Nothing**_

* * *

As the caravan drew nearer to the city, Malik became increasingly nervous. He'd never been this far north before, but that wasn't the only thing the blonde found unnerving. This wasn't some out of the way trading post or military fort. This was Alexandria. Founded by the young Macedonian conqueror just over ten years ago, it was one of the biggest port cities in the Mediterranean.

_Marik would have hated it._

The thought came to him unbidden. As a general rule, Malik avoided remembering things about his older brother. He didn't like to think of Marik, not since…well that hardly mattered now. The youth had more pressing worries to attend to. Glancing at his fellow slaves, he saw that he wasn't the only one who was frightened. To think, just over half a year ago he had been free. Free to roam on the whim of his heart's desire, to sleep under the stars or in the warmth of some inn or horse barn. During the flood season he would work as a field hand. Then, when the drier months rolled in, Malik could take on some other form of mindless work, as a message carrier or stable hand. Sure, his life hadn't been particularly exciting, but it kept him fed and sheltered, a feet that could be remarkably difficult in the sandy frontiers of Upper Egypt.

Things were infinitely different now. War had brought an abrupt end to the carefree liberty of the boy's nomadic lifestyle. He had been staying in a village on the outskirts of the Kharga oasis at the time, working as cheap labor for the local merchant. There had been rumors of course. It was said that troops of the new Pharaoh had been dispatched to these remote southern provinces, that, half-witted though the ruler was, his generals sought to crush the insurgencies brewing there with an iron fist.

To be honest Malik hadn't thought much of it. If anything he was happy that the Pharaoh had done this. After all, it was because of these infamous rebels that his brother had died. What neither he nor any of the other peasants had reckoned on was the lengths the young ruler's military leaders would go to in order to weed out such insurrection.

The coming of the general, Akunadin, still seemed to him like some kind of horrible nightmare. In the name of the distant Pharaoh the man had stationed his army at the city gates. His message had been clear. "Surrender or die." And what were they supposed to do? Fight back? The idea was laughable at best. Mud brick walls wouldn't stand up long against 2000 of the government's fighting elite.

It was ridiculous really. The people of the oasis were not rebels. They entertained no thoughts of undermining the Pharaoh or installing new regimes. Rather, their lives consisted of crops and livestock, the flood season and whether or not the next drought would be as bad as last year's. They had no mind for politics. Most did not even know that a new ruler had been instated. However, the winds of war were cruel, and in order to discourage possible uprisings, examples must be made.

The terms of surrender had been fierce. Not only were the people of the village forced to supply Akunadin's troops with fresh provisions; they were made to provide manual labor as well. This was all part of the government's plot to increase popularity of the Pharaoh. Under the watchful and often malicious eyes of the soldiers, a work force, composed mostly of children, slaves, and house servants, was forced to erect monuments, great spectacles of stone glorifying the young monarch.

Malik had not been fortunate enough to escape. After two moons in Akunadin's quarries he had longed for death. After three he expected it, yet Malik did not die. He struggled on for another lunar cycle, dragging limestone slabs to the worksite, using pulleys to bring up monoliths of unparalleled stature, watching as those around him wasted to nothing.

Salvation, ironically enough, came in the form of the very rebel troops Akunadin was sent to destroy in the first place. They stole in by starlight, kidnapping the slaves and tearing down the monuments. Malik felt nothing as the fruits of their labors were ruined, as the scaffolding burned and the stones fell back into dust. This apathy frightened him more than the battle itself. It wasn't like him to be so dispassionate. Marik was the remote one. Cool, unmoving…he shrank from human attachment as the shadow did from sunlight.

Malik may have missed his brother, but never in a million years would he have wished to be like him.

And so the Pharaoh's hordes were chased away, only to be replaced by this new form of monster. This was how Malik had ended up in a forced march to Alexandria. The conditions were harsher, the captors fiercer, and his future infinitely more bleak than it had been even at the work camp. He was to be sold into servitude in the conqueror's city, a fate that for the unlucky could be worse than death.

The boy wondered for the hundredth time what his master would be like. He didn't think he could endure another work camp. His body, weak from the long trek across the Sahara, wouldn't be able to keep up. Still, Malik supposed that the situation could be far worse. He should count himself lucky, having so far managed to escape the depravity of the gravest human cruelties.

"Hey blondie! Stop daydreaming and _move_ before they get pissed!" Jerking his thumb in the direction of the guards, the slave chained behind Malik gave him a light shove.

"…fuck off…" Despite his annoyance, the teen began to pick up the pace. The man was right. The walls of Alexandria lay just over the next rise, and their captors were getting impatient. They were horrible, covetous men, and he knew all too well what they were capable of when provoked.

When the city finally came back into view, Malik almost stopped short. The gates of Alexandria towered above them. Hewn from stone and imported timber, it seemed impossible that such an imposing structure had risen by the hands of man.

"Look alive, sweetheart. We're almost there."

Cringing instinctively from the guard's unpleasant leer, the blonde felt bile rising in the back of his throat. How could mere mortals dwell behind such imposing fortifications? No! This was a city of monsters, of devils and specters and spirits so vile that Ammit herself was afraid to devour them. Even the tales of his childhood did not depict creatures as fantastically horrifying as those Malik dreamt up now. A sphinx with the head of Akunadin. It stalked him on limestone paws, gold-plated talons held ready for attack. Isis and Rishid stood silently between its feet. He tried to yell for them, tried to shout out some kind of warning, but they were oblivious. _Please Ra_, he prayed. _Let them hear me!_ No answer. Even the gods refused to listen. _Marik… _His last hope. _Marik…brother…where are you?_

But he wasn't there. Marik had never believed in fairytales. He mocked the deities, saw the Pharaohs' sanctity and scoffed at it. _"It's better not to believe in that kind of bullshit,"_ he had told Isis not long after their father's death. _"I'd rather think the gods had forsaken us than allowed the world to become so ugly."_

His sister's eyes had flashed, angry as Malik had never seen them. _"It is your heart that makes things ugly, Mariku!"_

At this, the young man laughed. _"Maybe…but my heart also tells me things. And it tells me this. The gods left this country long ago. We are nothing to them now."_

"What are you? Stupid? Get going!"

Shaken from his memories by the slave's words, Malik lurched forward dumbly. Those monstrous gates were finally creaking open. Never in his life had he seen so many people. They clogged the streets, peered out of windows and doorways, scuttling about like termites in the sand.

And in the midst of this countless, unwashed mob, Malik realized something. He had never in his life been so completely and utterly alone.

He shivered as they passed beneath the shadow of the gate's archway. It was a gargantuan maw, threatening to swallow him up, cast him into this sea of faces until he became so lost that he forgot himself. Until his own name became a mystery. He could feel the heat, the stink of the people's bodies as they pressed in around him. The street on which they were herded was filthy. It smelled of mud and shit, and Malik grimaced as it squelched beneath his toes.

_Disgusting._ He could almost see Marik's face of revulsion, that haughty and disdainful look that made him appear more like royalty than the son of an archaic and inbred priesthood. Oh, how he would have loathed this place. Marik with his derisive laugh, with his wild hair and his mocking eyes that had made the youth's otherwise beautiful face so hard to look at. And indeed, his brother had been beautiful. Cruel, perhaps. Unpredictable, insensitive, obsessive to the point of madness. Marik had been all of these things, but there was still that beauty…and Malik, irresistibly drawn to it, had truly loved him.

Up ahead, the boy could see what appeared to be a massive stock yard. It stood at the end of a bustling market, dark and foreboding in contrast to the more brightly swathed stalls of the gold and cloth sellers. _The trading ground. _Malik tried to find the strength to be outraged, but he was too exhausted.

By this time the guards were becoming increasingly nervous. Technically, Alexandria was under control of the Pharaoh. If it was discovered that they were the insurgents who had attacked Akunadin…but what did it matter if the bastards were caught? Either way, Malik's fate would be the same.

"This way! This way!" A short, toad-like man was motioning to the guards from an alley near the slave yards. Every so often he would cast his eyes anxiously up and down the street, on the lookout for the Pharaoh's men. "You idiots! Marching them up the main road like that! Your mothers must have fornicated with rocks to create such fucking geniuses! Now get over here!"

The men grumbled angrily for a moment, but after a withering glare from their leader, a stocky man who appeared older than he probably was, they began herding their human cargo towards the indignant stranger.

"We brought you another bunch of 'em, Miso"

Eyes roving shamelessly over the bodies of the captives, the man grinned. "I can see that. You're lucky their in better shape than last time, or I wouldn't have taken them!"

The little toad man must have held at least some sway in the slave business, for the rebel leader gulped down his anger in favor of cold civility. "Where do you want them?"

"This way! This way! We mustn't let too many people see them."

* * *

Two hours and several more unpleasant dealings later, Malik found himself no longer in chains but in a sort of heavily guarded holding pen. He had been separated from his desert companions. The unfortunates he was with now were young, more boys than men, yet there was a resignation to their youthful faces. Their eyes were dead like those of an old man.

"What happened to your back?"

He had blond hair, dark eyes, and a pale complexion that suggested he was not originally from Egypt. He couldn't have been a year older, yet Malik was strangely taken aback. He was alarmed by the boy's frankness and more than a little ashamed. _"They_ _will see your scars,"_ Marik had told him once_, "and they will stare. Not because these scars are beautiful, but because they are different. When this happens you must watch out for yourself, little brother, for it is true. You are different, and in this world different scares people."_

"What's written on my back doesn't concern you."

The paler youth raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Defensive, aren't you? Fine then. Don't tell me." He continued to grin in a way that could have been deemed stupid if not for the unanticipated intelligence glinting in his eyes. "What's your name, anyway?"

"It's Malik."

…silence for a moment…

"Well aren't you gonna ask me mine?"

"Oh…um…" Despite himself, Malik flushed under the foreigner's laughingly perplexed gaze. "W-what's your name, then?"

"Jounouchi. Call me Jou if you like. Everyone else does."

Nodding wordlessly, Malik turned from his new companion to stare at a group of guards chatting near the pen's entrance. He didn't mean to be so cold. He had always been social, even as a child, but he had seen a lot in the past two years. During that forced march through the desert his mind had been filled, not with thoughts of survival, but with memories. Memories of Father, of Rishid and Isis, of the mother he had never known, and of course Mariku. Always his arrogance. His cynicism. His callousness that could so gracefully slide into rage or, just as easily, into desperate, maddening happiness.

And so Malik shied away from companionship, preferring the comfort of his own memories. They were safe. He understood them, and, perhaps most importantly, he could elaborate upon them. In his head Rishid was kinder, Isis always more beautiful. His father, austere and quick to anger, had never been so cruel. And Mariku…he was untouchable. Perfect. No. That wasn't true. Even under the influence of the most magnificent flourishes of the boy's imagination, his beloved and malevolent brother had never been perfect.

_It's the scars_, Malik decided. The scars alone that had marked Marik as anything less than godlike.

"_Why are you staring at me?"_ It was the first time in a long time that his brother's voice had sounded so hysterical. It was after Rishid's death, and he'd been talking in his sleep. _"Get the fuck away! Don't look at me!"_

"I wonder what they're planning." Seemingly oblivious to Malik's apathy, Jounouchi glared suspiciously at the slave merchant's guards. "I'll bet someone real high up is coming today. They even brought us water to wash up."

Malik glanced over at the buckets of murky water. Earlier, he had wasted no time in scrubbing himself raw. He had been ecstatic to be rid of the desert sand which, for months it seemed, had thoroughly clung to his body. Jounouchi was another story. His new companion, it was clear, had declined the offer. His face and arms were filthy, as were his hair and smock. If possible he was even dirtier than Malik had been.

"Ah!" Jounouchi grinned, a smile, the Egyptian was discovering with dismay, that was rather infectious. "You're wondering why I didn't bathe. Well, I'll tell you. When the rich ones come…you know, the nobles and lords and what have you…well, when they journey down here to old Miso's selling booth they're not usually searching out specimens for manual labor."

Malik blinked. "Huh?"

"They have their subordinates take care of petty things like that, but when someone of the aristocracy comes to take a look for themselves, they're usually looking for someone to put to a more…personal use."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jounouchi scratched the back of his neck and yawned. "It's all about what you want, I suppose. As slaves, we lack a great deal of choice, but that doesn't mean there aren't ways of influencing our destinies. For example, I like working in the fields. It's difficult, brutal if your master is cruel, but it reminds me of my childhood. It's comforting, and I know what I'm getting myself into. That's why I didn't scrub myself earlier. If I'm dirty, it's less likely that I'll attract the…wrong sort of attention."

…_wrong sort of attention. _Slowly, the realization of what was being said began to dawn on Malik. Horrified, he remembered every seedy bar he had ever been in, the shameful discomfort of old men staring at him like piece of meat. This is what Jounouchi had been hinting at. A bed slave? He would rather be dead.

"…of course, it probably wouldn't be as bad as it sounds. I've heard of some palace servants living quite comfortably with their masters, but to tell you the truth I find ladies much more…"

The blonde's rambling was cut off by a commotion from the other end of the enclosure. The slaves were being forced back into their shackles.

"You two! Get over here!"

Seeing no choice but to heed the beefy guard's command, Malik followed Jounouchi after the other boys.

"My, aren't you pretty."

Ignoring the man's unpleasant sneer, he stared with dread at the by now familiar chains embracing his wrists and ankles. He could feel the tension like a subtle drug poisoning the air. Fear had never seemed so potent.

"Stand up straight! Look alive! Don't speak if you know what's good for you, and do everything I say!"

"What did I tell you?" Jounouchi murmured from the corner of his mouth. "They'd never make such a fuss if someone high up wasn't on their way."

Malik swallowed dryly. Something about the other's words made him unduly nervous. He didn't know why. It wasn't like whether his master was rich or poor made any difference, was it? He would still be a slave…yet there was a part of Malik, somewhere deep down where the irrational still held sway, that felt this day was the beginning of something new and very dangerous.

The guards had just finished getting the slaves in order when the first buyers were led in by the man called Miso. None of them seemed too out of the ordinary. Most looked like wealthy planters, with the occasional merchant mixed in for good measure. No one, it seemed, fit Jounouchi's description of…

He came in behind the rest, surrounded by guards who were much too disciplined to be likened to Miso's swine. Adorned with silver and clothed in blue linen, he could not have been much older than the slave boys in front of him. He was short, slight of build, with pale, immaculate skin and hair that was quite literally white.

_White_, Malik thought to himself. A trait belonging only to the ancient and divine.

This youth, for indeed he was very young, seemed neither revolted nor frightened by this place. His countenance was one kindness, tranquility…pity. He truly felt sorry for these creatures of bondage, but if so, why was he here? There was a weariness to his frail, luminous body. He seemed tired yet, in a strange way, determined.

"So that's our little prince, is it?" Jounouchi muttered. "Looks a bit out of place, eh?"

Malik didn't reply. Instead, he continued to study the white-haired boy. He was incontestably good looking, not handsome necessarily, but almost feminine in nature. His nose was thin and straight, his large, chestnut colored eyes expressive, if a bit melancholy. A small mouth, delicate chin, limbs graceful like those of a dancer. Malik hardly knew what to make of him other than that he was…pretty?

Until now everything had been quiet. The buyers appraised their options from outside the enclosure, and the slaves, equally curious, assessed the multitude of possible masters. No one spoke. The only noise was that of the surrounding city, the whinnying of horses and distant trumpets. Then…

"L-Lord Bakura! I didn't know you'd be coming so soon! I was misinformed of your arrival time and these _i-idiots_...they…they, uh…" Unable to continue due to lack of breath, Miso stopped speaking and flopped flat on the ground in front of the young lord.

"Please, I don't want to make a fuss." This Bakura boy was the definition of elegance. "Just disregard my status and go about your…business…as usual."

It was clear that, in the throes of his excitement, the little trader had heard none of this. He wasted no time in having the more common buyers ushered out, leaving the uncomfortable looking lord and his cluster of bodyguards alone with the merchandise.

"Now come, your excellence! Take a good look at them. Are they not in spectacular condition? What manner of servant are you looking for? I assure you…"

Ignoring Miso's ramblings, the pale haired boy drew a bit closer. For the first time Malik saw a look of consternation cross his face. He wasn't used to this, this purchasing of the flesh. It was alien, barbaric…but certainly he had slaves at home! _Probably never thought of where they came from. The rich bastard._ Yet, even as he thought this, the blonde knew it couldn't be true. The young lord was no bastard. He was simply a sheltered, benevolent boy.

"I'm looking for someone unique," the silver haired creature whispered almost to himself. "…someone who could replace..."

His eyes stopped on Malik. They became wide, comically so, round and bright and faceted in a most fetching and unnerving way. The youth felt an irrepressible ache. How he wished he could hold that gaze forever. How he longed to pull himself into this innocent's lord's warm and supple arms. After so many days of violence, of cruelty and coarse words and unspeakable anguish, Malik wanted nothing more than the softness of a human being's embrace.

The pale faced boy, in turn, seemed nearly as enthralled as Malik. Face still frozen in astonishment, he looked for a moment as if he would stumble forward. However, he managed to regain his composure at the last minute and turned to Miso.

"Who is he? What is his name?"

The little slave merchant remained stationary for a moment, mouth parted foolishly. Then, with an undignified squawk, he struck Malik across the cheek with the butt of his whip.

"What are you waiting for, slave? Tell his Lordship your name!"

For a moment the youth said nothing. _Bakura,_ he thought. _I have heard that surname somewhere before. They must be foreigners, perhaps from across the sea. He does have a funny accent. _

"Did you hear not hear me?" This time the other side of his face was struck. It stung like snakebite. "Give him your name!"

"Namu." Malik allowed his gaze to fall from that of the horrified and bewildered noble. "They call me Namu, my lord."

"Where do you come from?"

"I was born nearby, my lord, on my family's farm."

Malik didn't understand why he was being asked all these questions, nor could he identify his reasoning for answering all of them falsely. What difference did it make? Unless he believed that somehow by lying he could…but he must stay his thoughts for now. The Lord Bakura was speaking.

"What about your family? Where are they now?"

Malik felt a catch in his throat, and for once he forgot to lie. "They are dead," he murmured. "I've been alone for over a year now."

"I see." Something like disappointment tainted the compassion of the paler youth's words. "I…I'm very…sorry…"

Miso, unable to comprehend anything so fine as human goodness, rubbed his palms together nervously. "Would you…err…like to buy him, my lord? Or would you rather inspect the boy further?"

"No." The bejeweled foreigner shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I think I'll take him. If…if you'll have the costs sent to my treasurer, I'm sure…"

Malik heard little else of what was said that day. He could recall only moments. Bakura's guards muttering to each other in Greek. Being released from chains only to have them replaced with ropes. Exchanging a final glance with the slave, Jounouchi, who had given him the briefest and most quizzical of smiles.

After once more braving the crowded streets of Alexandria, they had reached an inn. It was a nice, high-end place, and he would remember being pleasantly surprised upon being granted a small bed in the corner. Then there was the bath, the new clothing, the _food. _Malik hadn't realized just how ravenous he had been until a bowl of vegetable stew was set before him. Later that night, as he huddled with a full stomach on his straw-stuffed mattress, he had felt both lucky and extremely frightened. What madness was he in for this time?

* * *

"Excuse me?" Hesitating for a moment, the young lord gave the blonde a light shake. "I'm sorry to wake you, Namu, but…"

The slave stirred for a moment. Then, with a fearful jolt, he opened his eyes.

"M-master Bakura?"

Said youth gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's time we get moving. The boat leaves in less than an hour."

"I…I…"

_What have I done wrong? He looks terrified…almost as if he's expecting some kind of punishment. _The lord stared helplessly into the other's eyes, still beautiful despite their fear. Was this boy really so unused to kindness? Well that was to be expected. How anyone could bear the horrible cruelties of capture by the insurgent troops was beyond him. He had been present during his brother's dealings with the men who followed the Rebel King, Anubis. They were every bit as vindictive as their master.

"Don't worry. I'm not angry. It's just that we should really be going."

The blonde continued to stare at him for a moment, then, at last, gave a weak nod and stood up.

"Yes, Master Bakura. Of course."

Ryou smiled as he led the slave called Namu down onto the street. "Please, call me Ryou."

* * *

**-TOT** (This is the first chapter of Enchantment. It seems a bit slow-paced at first, but I promise the next few chapters will be much more exciting. It takes place during the turbulent years after the death of Alexander the Great when his halfbrother, Philip Arrhidaeus, was in control of Egypt. Throughout this story, I'll try to stick to historical facts as much as artistic license and my limited knowledge of this time period will allow. Thanks so much for reading this first chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!) 


	2. If You Stay

**Enchantment**

**Chapter Two: If You Stay**

* * *

In the secretive hush before dawn, Malik didn't find Alexandria nearly as unbearable. It wasn't crowded. If anything, the streets were peaceful. The last of the stars shone smoldering across the sky and, despite the grime and filth of the walkway, a refreshing coolness filled the air, a scent characteristic of early morning.

The blonde felt almost optimistic as he followed his new master. If beauty could still exist, especially in this wretched place, then certainly there must be some hope left over for himself. _Where are we off to, anyway_? he wondered. Certainly someone who wore as much silver as Ryou must live in a palace of great wealth.

As they made their way down the deserted streets, a strange rushing sound broke into Malik's thoughts. It wasn't like wind. Rather…

Turning the corner, he couldn't help gasping at what he saw. It was huge. Wide. Colossal beyond all boundaries of his landlocked comprehension. Majestic, shit green waves growing steadily smaller until they disappeared, glittering sunrise pink at the brink of the horizon. Malik had never in his wildest dreaming felt so small. The ocean was beautiful…beautiful and captivatingly frightening.

"I told you we were taking a boat, didn't I?"

Ryou smiled at his slave's astonishment. Of course, it made perfect sense that he had never seen the Mediterranean. Namu had grown up on an inland delta farm. The Nile was probably the largest body of water he had ever been close to.

"The voyage won't be too long." He gave the boy a reassuring pat, which was accepted with a slight flinch of the shoulders. "We'll be on the water two days at most."

Malik nodded but remained unconvinced. Two days in the absence of solid ground sounded like an eternity.

As they neared the harbor, Ryou's guards seemed to become more and more agitated. They tightened into a circle around their charge, peering suspiciously into the various dark alleys that surrounded them. Bypassing the blatantly gaudy ships of the elite, they made their way towards a seedier, decrepit set of docks.

The ship, christened the _Rajiya Salam_ in peeling gray paint, was every bit as ramshackle as the buildings surrounding it. The sails were tattered, the hull leaky and encrusted with sea life. It resembled a pirate ship in every way, shape, and form. The crew, however, was nothing like the renegade maurauders of Malik's nightmares. They were dressed neatly, much the same as Ryou's guards, and bowed in greetings as the young lord made his way on board.

A man who must have been the captain stepped forward. "We are ready, my lord. Your articles and supplies have already been brought aboard."

The pale faced noble smiled, that wistful, endearing grin that Malik was quickly coming to admire. "Thank you, Mahaado." He turned to them. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

* * *

Malik did not like the sea. In fact, he abhored it. The wicked roaring of the waves, the hull pitching about with each oar stroke. It was all he could do not to throw up. Instead of vomiting, the blonde found himself a little alcove near the stern where he spent the majority of the morning studying the workings of the ship. He was fascinated by the appealing tautness the wind had breathed into the sails. There they floated, crisp and white and billowing, against the lightening sky, flapping slightly whenever the captain decided to change direction.

Then there was the crew itself. Unlike Ryou's body guards, the majority of them appeared to be native Egyptians. They spoke in a familiar dialect and granted Malik a gratuitous sense of wellbeing.

Just who was this Ryou Bakura, he wondered, grasping the railing compulsively as they hit a particularly bad spot of water. A wealthy foreigner from Europe? Most certainly rich beyond all means, but then why this rickety boat? Why all the secrecy? They obviously weren't headed for Greece or Phoenicia. Instead, the _Rajiya Salam _hugged the coast, heading west towards Egypt's less settled regions.

Then there was what baffled Malik the most. Why him? Why was he here? What possible reason could Ryou have for purchasing him? The young lord didn't seem like the type of man who would want a bed slave, but hadn't Jounouchi told him that was what the wealthy that came to the slave yards were looking for? There was something going on here, a secret he would only learn when they reached their final destination.

Yet, despite the questions, despite the horrors of bondage and the tumultuous sea, Malik felt in his heart a bizarre sort of happiness. For the first time in what seemed like years, he looked forward to the future. Nothing could be as bad as the tomb keepers' crypt, as the forced march across the desert, as his brother being struck down in the prime of life. The boy had beaten all of that. He could overcome anything.

"Excuse me?"

Malik looked up, startled despite himself. "Yes, Master Ryou?"

"I…I suppose you're wondering just where it is we're going. Its not fair keeping you in the dark, so I…" The boy flushed and, quite suddenly, grabbed his wrist. "Do you hate me for this?" he whispered almost desperately. "For forcing you into this position?"

For a moment, Malik saw red. Hate? Hate could not begin to describe the rage he felt, the deep, festering loathing that consumed him. A slave? He was no better than livestock! To be traded and frittered away, a flesh and blood trinket of the aristocracy. The anger churned about inside him. It spit like fire, boiled with the fumes of the vilest miasma. Then, in a blistering, almost sulfuric rush, it was gone. What had been done to him was horrible, but it was not the pale boy's fault. He did not hate Ryou, merely the predicament into which he had been thrown.

"N-Namu?"

"It would be pointless to hate you, my lord. This thing…it is not your doing."

Ryou nodded and slowly released his servant's arm. "We're making good time. I'll bet we reach Baranis by noon, tomorrow." He turned, Malik thought, to go, but instead lingered, staring out into the misty plains of the surrounding sea. "And I am sorry. Believe me, if I thought there was any other way…but I had to do something! My brother, he…"

Ryou's voice was cut off by the piercing clank of the ship's warning bell. Almost instantly, everyone was on deck. It was madness, the likes of which Malik had seen only once, during that battle between Akunadin and the rebels. Weapons out, voices rallying for order, eyes scouring the horizon for the incoming threat.

"Out there! Coming on starboard!"

They could see them now. Three sets of creamy sails, flashing oars, sleek, sturdy hulls built purely for speed. Ryou gasped. "That flag…it's the sign of the Pharaoh!"

"But how can we escape?" a near hysterical sailor moaned. "This ship can't outrun them, and Ra knows the Pharaoh's men…"

"Silence." The captain, Mahaado, barely batted an eye. "It's true we can't outrun them on the open sea. However, if we can make it to the coast there's a possibility of losing them in the delta marshes. Their ship is much too large to maneuver there safely."

"C-captain! That's brilli…"

"Hurry! We have no time to waste!"

As if by magic, the panicked crew fell into order. They had a plan now, a glimpse of salvation. It amazed Malik at how they adjusted the sails, shifted the rigging, and began making their dash for the Egyptian coast. Looking out to sea, however, the blonde shivered. They were making good time considering the dilapidated state of their vessel, but the shore was still far off, and the ships of the royal fleet were gaining quickly. Certainly they would be overtaken before they reached the safety of the delta!

_Thunk! Thu-thunk!_

Malik stared at the arrow burrowed in the deck just inches from his hand. _In firing distance already? _In an inexplicable burst of paranoia, he scanned the boat for Ryou. He found him slumped against the railing, a bloom of crimson, blossoming at his shoulder.

He froze. So the young noble had been hit. It wasn't really surprising. He was standing out in the open, too astonished to have the presence of mind to get out of the way. _What happens if he dies? Will they free me? After all, if my master has passed away…_

'"_What are you planning to do, Malik? Save me?"_

_His brother's steely gaze, betraying only the slightest hint of physical agony._

"_I-I don't want to leave you! I can't…"_

"_Can't you? Tell me, little brother, do you really wish for death?"_

"…_no…"_

_Mariku, in the moment of his greatest compassion, had never been so cruel. "It is your choice, Malik. If you run, there is a possibility that you might escape. If you stay with me you will die."_

_So he ran, ran for all he was worth. Because Malik did not want to die. He feared the grave…and the almost imperceptible nod of his brother as he left him bleeding in the sand.'_

With a strangled yell, the blonde leapt from his sheltered alcove and lurched forward. A volley of arrows flew past his head, but he kept going. He was sobbing, literally sobbing in fear. Never in his life had Malik done anything so stupid.

"Master!" Raising his voice to be heard over the crew's screams and the creaking of the ship, he grasped the lord by the collar. "Master Ryou, y-you can't stay here!"

Slowly, the pale faced youth opened his eyes. The pain caused his vision to blur and his already confused brain to fall further into shock. He stared at his new slave feebly.

"M-m…"

Malik threw an arm around Ryou's waist and, before he himself knew what he was doing, began hauling him back towards the safety of his hiding spot. This wasn't good. There was so much blood! Staring at the broken shaft protruding from the young lord's shoulder, he shivered.

"Namu? Namu, what's happening?"

The blonde did not reply but sighed in relief as they reached the relative safety of the lean-to type structure. Setting Ryou down, he tore a strip of linen from his tunic.

"Namu, where's Akefia?"

"He's safe," Malik murmured automatically. "Now lie still." In reality he didn't know if Akefia was safe. Hell! He didn't even know who Akefia _was_, but he must keep Ryou calm if he was to save him. It would do more harm than good to try to remove the arrow now. His main concern was to assess the injury.

"This might hurt."

As gently as he could, Malik used the bit of cloth from his smock to wipe away the blood from the paler's wound. He relaxed almost instantly. It wasn't as bad as the slave had originally thought. No major artery had been severed, and, as far as he could tell, the arrow's shaft had done a pretty good job of stemming excess blood flow after the first initial gush.

"Master Ryou!"

Mahaado was at their side in a matter of seconds. "My lord, what has happened?"

"I-I'm not…Mahaado, how close are the enemy's ships?"

The captain bit his lip. They're almost upon us my lord, but if we can just make it to the delta…"

Malik was suddenly aware of a huge shadow slowly falling over the _Rajiya Salam_. It was on of the Pharaoh's boats, he realized. The royal fleet was drawing near.

"Namu!"

With as much fire as he could muster, the blonde met Mahaado's gaze.

"Stay with Master Ryou and make sure he is not injured further. If any harm should befall him not only I but his brother as well will hold you personably accountable." With that, the brunette turned and resumed giving his attention to the ship and crew.

Malik looked down at his ailing charge. Once again, Ryou had lost consciousness. "A brother," he murmured. It seemed he had more in common with the lord than one would have thought.

* * *

Yami Atemu stood at the prow of his ship. They were close to the _Rajiya Salam_, almost within boarding distance! The crimson-eyed Egyptian smiled sardonically. _In the name of the Pharaoh, the God King, Beloved of Ra, I will sink this vessel and make this rebel lord a prisoner of the royal court._

But Atemu did not relish thisthought. The noble on that boat was no insurgent, no mastermind of dissent against the Pharaoh. Rather, he was a child, a game piece needed to blackmail their real enemy, Akefia Bakura, ruler of the pirate city, Baranis. Still, he had his reservations. To kidnap a child? That was low, on the level of Persian barbarians and common thieves, but it was not Atemu's place to question the morality of the halfwit Pharaoh's advisors. He was a soldier. He would carry out his mission if it cost him everything he had.

"General Atemu, what should we do? They're trying to lose us in the marshes!"

Atemu frowned at his officer through a curtain of platinum bangs. "Follow them in, and quickly! If they get in too far our ships will be too large to continue!"

Sighing, the general trained his eyes once more on the dissenters' dismally equipped vessel. In a direct fight, they wouldn't stand a chance, but already they had made it to the mouth of one of the Nile's tributaries. Only the main sail could be seen, a shroud of white towering above the mangroves.

_The brother of Akefia Bakura,_ Atemu mused. _What a fate, to be loved by one so lawless and cruel._

* * *

"My lord!"

A familiar pair of smoky blue eyes stared down at him.

"M-Mahaado?"

Despite himself, the captain almost smiled. "You have awakened, my lord. I am grateful."

"But those ships…my…my shoulder!"

Ryou gritted his teeth as the pain finally began to register in his mind. Back on the boat, he'd…he'd been shot. But where were they now? No longer on the sea, that was for sure. He could hear the buzz of insects, smell the faintly bitter tang of moist soil. Only vaguely could the noble recall the day's events, and then, only in snippets. A deeper enigma seemed to overwhelm him, unwieldy and suffocating.

"Mahaado?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Tell me, where is Namu?" Raising his head as much as his complaining body would allow, Ryou scoured the camp for the slave who had saved his life.

_Saved me?_ Or had he imagined it, his agony induced delirium molding a familiar face out of thin air…or perhaps some darker, morbid essence.

"You called for me, Master Ryou?"

For a moment Ryou didn't look at him. Who was he kidding? Of course it had been Namu. _But why? Why risk your life for someone like me? For Ra's sake, I enslaved you!_

After another moment of silence, he forced himself to look into the blonde's eyes. "Tell me about it, please? About the escape."

It was strange, but Malik felt almost relieved. Ryou hadn't thanked him, but, instead of angering the slave, this liberated him. He did not wish to be a saint, to deceive anyone with a superfluous act of kindness. Dragging the paler boy to shelter had been a stupid, thoughtless thing to do. Not only could he have been killed, but now Malik and Ryou were connected. This complicated things. Escape had been rendered much more difficult.

_Perhaps I could slip away at night,_ he mused, _but where would I go?_ No. It would be better to bide his time and formulate a plan.

"Namu?"

It took a moment for the pseudonym to register. Then, with a jerky little nod and a light flip of the hair, the slave began. He told of the mangroves, of the salty delta swampland they had sailed into. As Mahaado had predicted, the Pharaoh's ships were too large and had caught up on sandbars almost immediately. Still, there had been casualties. Four sailors had died, six were wounded ("…including you, my lord…"), and now, though out of the Pharaoh's reach, they were cut off from the sea and would have to make the rest of the journey on foot.

Malik was surprised by how disturbed Ryou was when he was told of the deaths. After so long in the labor camp, sensitivity seemed…Rishid had been the same way. He was so gentle, horrified by violence. It was strange that, with these qualities, he had always been so good at getting along with Marik.

It was different with father. He was the only person Malik had ever met capable of hating his older stepbrother. But why? What was it about Rishid that the elder tomb keeper could not abide?

'"_A pointless question, Malik. Our father hated everyone."' _

But Mariku had been wrong about that. Their father had hated _most_ people, it was true, but even he had a soft spot. It had been extended only to his youngest son, the baby in the family. For every time he had slapped Isis, whipped his adopted son, fought with Marik until both of them were hoarse and bleeding...for every atrocity he had committed, Malik could recall only one instance when his father had ever struck him. What resulted from that could only be described as worse than any nightmare…

"Namu?"

"Yes, Master Ryou?"

The white haired boy looked so troubled that Malik couldn't help feeling a rather large stab of empathy for him.

"I suppose…I suppose I must explain now why you were purchased."

Malik did not trust himself to reply, so great was the wave of bitterness that with one sentence had swept away his sympathy. He merely clenched his fists and waited, stony-faced for Ryou to continue.

* * *

Akefia Bakura was in no mood for letters. He had been up all last night, thinking of his brother, his cause, every last responsibility in his life that the lord longed, if only for a few hours, to forget. But how? How could he find time to relax when he couldn't fucking sleep? It was ridiculous. Every time Bakura closed his eyes…dreams, haunted laughter, eyes that mocked him with an emotion he was unable to identify… He couldn't pinpoint the exact date of when these visions had begun. All he knew was that, as time went on, they were getting progressively worse. _It wasn't always like this_, he thought. _At first…_

But no matter how much Bakura ranted, no matter how often he cursed and spat and pitied himself, nothing would change. The letter was still sitting there, lying, elegant and pretentiously folded, right in the center of his fucking desk.

"What the hell does Anubis want this time?"

Not caring if he ripped the delicate papyrus, Bakura tore impatiently at the seal. He snorted. Flourishes and curlicues, calligraphy so intricate it could hardly be read. Strange that such beautiful, if eccentric, handwriting could be wrought by a brute like Anubis. His true nature would have been completely disguised if not for one thing. It was the inkRed. Always red.

The letter, as usual, was written in code.

_Menthu,_

_1000 head of sheep move towards the reliquary hill of Osiris' head. By new moon they graze. A capable shepherd guides them. Send more sheep._

_Until the next beginning,_

_Apep_

Bakura sighed. It seemed Anubis had finally decided to attack Abydos. It was about damn time. The city was in control of Seth, one of the Pharaoh's priests. Seth was a dangerous man, but he had few soldiers. If Bakura sent a contingent of 500 to aid the men of the Rebel King, the sacking of Abydos would take a matter of days.

The young lord closed his eyes, allowing the sunlight streaming through the window to warm his face. His alliance with Anubis was an unpleasant but necessary part of overthrowing the Pharaoh. Without him, Bakura would have neither the manpower nor the funds to do it. However, this did not stop him from hating the man.

Hate? No. He didn't just hate him. He _loathed_ him, _despised_ him, wished him dead with every fiber of his being. But there was no other way. The Pharaoh was a madman, lacking even half the mental caliber needed to govern an empire. Not only that, but he was the half brother of Alexander, the Macedonian conqueror who had taken over the Bakuras' European lands some twenty years ago. Because of this, their family had sworn revenge, unable to rest until the conqueror's bloodline was erased and their land north of the Mediterranean reclaimed.

Akefia had been taught this since childhood. Hate the pharaoh. Regain the family's honor. He knew no other path. Nothing, not even his hatred for Anubis, could interfere with it, the infallible law of a filial destiny.

Turning from the window, Bakura glared once again at the letter. What were Anubis' reasons for hating the Pharaoh, anyway? Had he too been wronged by the worshipper of Achilles? Or perhaps his motives were less complex. Anubis was a monster, a devil whose tastes were too sadistic even for Bakura. Perhaps he didn't abhor the Pharaoh so much as he lusted for war. The Rebel King, personification of Apophis…connoisseur of human misery.

Picking up the letter, Bakura saw that he had missed something. A final note, written in small letters at the bottom of the page

_A Piece of Advice-_

_In order to trust a horse, you must first break it thoroughly._

For a long time the lord of Baranis stood, immobile and silent. Only his hands were trembling.

_When this is over, Anubis, I will destroy you._

* * *

-TOT (Wow! I don't think I've ever updated this quickly. Maybe I've finally turned over a new leaf, but it's probably just a fluke… Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this installment of Enchantment. Some details may seem a little confusing right now, but don't worry. I'm trying to write this so that everything eventually comes together. Thank you so much to those who reviewed. Your comments motivate me to become a better writer.

Oh, one more thing! I realize there are quite a few historical and mythological references in this story. If you're curious about any of them just drop me a line, and I'll be happy to clear things up.)


	3. How You Want To Die

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 3: How You Want To Die**

* * *

As the city of Baranis rose before them, Malik's stomach gave an unpleasant clench. He still hadn't gotten over the shock of Ryou's confession.

"_My brother has been very…lonely of late. I was hoping that, by obtaining someone to keep him company, he would…I don't know…be happy."_

_Realization hit the blonde with enough force to knock out oxygen. "My lord, you plan to...to give me to him?"_

"_Yes." To Ryou's credit, he did appear to be ashamed. "It's despicable, I know, but…but Akefia, he… You have to understand! I-I love my brother very much!"_

And the scary thing was that Malik _did_ understand. He knew what it was like to love in this way, to worship someone so completely that there was no sin too grievous, no law that could not be broken, if only for one instant it would make that person happy. It was addiction, an all-consuming devotion constantly threatening to run too deep. Oh yes, Malik understood all too well the crippling bondage of absolute veneration.

Because of this, he could not bring himself to hate the boy. He was angry enough, angry and terribly, terribly frightened, but Ryou…no. This wasn't _really_ his fault.

"Namu?"

"_Yes?"_ Malik spoke with as must petulance as a slave could get away with. He may not have hated Ryou. However anger did not necessarily go hand in hand with hate.

"I-I…" It was all the young noble could do not to flinch from the blonde's unyielding gaze. "I must ask that you be careful around my brother. He…he's not a bad man, not like the Pharaoh's men paint him out to be, but Akefia…he's good at sensing weakness, and when he's in a foul mood…"

Malik didn't really pay attention to the rest of what Ryou was saying. Already, he had a clear picture of what the Lord of Baranis would be like. Rulers were all the same. The degree of cruelty might vary, but the basic facts rarely held any deviation. Rulers were selfish, narrow-minded, only as clever as their closest advisors. What made an aristocrat formidable was not his talent, but his ability to surround himself with talented people.

As Malik thought about this, he could barely restrain a bitter smile. _I've become almost as cynical as Marik._

* * *

Ryou felt increasingly nervous as they entered the city. He didn't like that glint in Namu's eyes. There was anger there, resentment…and something darker, something that the boy couldn't begin to describe. He wondered if this hadn't all been a horrid mistake. What would Akefia think when he saw his gift? Namu's features were so…_peculiar_. And those tattoos on his back…inexplicable. Somehow, there had to be…

"Your Lordship!"

Ryou was shaken from his thoughts by a foot messenger, who came skidding to a stop directly in front of him and bowed.

"Yes?" the youth inquired. "What is it?"

"Your brother the…the elder Bakura…sends word…" the man spat out between gasps. "He welcomes you back my lord and…and wishes for you to…to hasten…to the palace!"

Refusing to allow his nerves to get the best of him, Ryou gave the servant a courteous nod. "Thank you. You may go."

As the herald departed, he young lord paused for a moment and stared out across the sea. The frothy luster of the waves, the way water met sky in a faultless, crescent-shaped seam…all so beautiful. He felt as if the ocean were a part of himself, something deep and metrical, keeping beat with the underlying rhythms of his soul.

Often times Ryou found himself wondering if the Mediterranean was just as stunning from the other side, from Europe. All his life he had been told of the richness of that land, of its beauty and vitality and its vast, indomitable wilderness…all of which, by right of blood, should have been theirs if not for the acts of that wicked Macedonian twenty years ago. Akefia had dedicated his entire life to reclaiming this land, but Ryou sometimes questioned this commitment. He loved Egypt, loved the desert, the people, the dizzying endlessness of the sky. It was home to him, home in a way no foreign Greek province could ever be. And deep down, somewhere where a family's influence cannot possibly hope to burrow, he knew his brother felt the same.

Starting up again, Ryou winced at the slight ache in his wounded shoulder. There was no doubt Akefia had already received word of this injury. The pale-faced boy grimaced. The last thing he wanted was a verbal reprimand from a man who clearly led a far more hazardous lifestyle than his own. _Then again, when he sees Namu he'll probably forget all about that._

"Master Ryou?"

Turning to said boy, Ryou was forced to repress a shudder. _Really, he's quite beautiful. _"What is it?"

The blonde swallowed dryly. When he did speak, there was an unmistakable tremor in his words. "Exactly what kind of…services…am I to provide...to your brother?"

There it was. The dreaded question. How Ryou wished he would not have asked! What was he supposed to say? That he was giving Namu up to the life of a forced concubine? That he was to be a bed slave to Akefia Bakura, foe of the Pharaoh and Lord of Baranis? That wasn't what Ryou wanted. He was growing fond of the Egyptian. Namu was…he was a good person. _For Ra's sake, he saved my life! _What kind of repayment was this? Forced intimacy? Rape? Ryou loved his brother, but even he was unbiased enough to recognize his own guilt and Akefia's definite streak of sadism.

But that didn't matter now. What mattered was that Ryou answered.

"Listen, Na…"

"Ryou!"

The voice was unmistakable, as was the visage…pale and handsome, powerfully built, tall, eyes that glittered haughtily from where he sat perched on the back of his equally impressive warhorse.

"B-brother!" For a moment Ryou forgot his dilemma. This was _Akefia_, his brother, his friend and protector, the one pillar of true stability left to him in these turbulent times of war. The guilt in his heart was overwhelmed. Loyalty did that to people.

* * *

For the first time since the arrival of Anubis' letter, Bakura felt his mood lighten ever so slightly. Despite reports of injury, Ryou didn't appear to be too much the worse for wear. His shoulder looked a bit stiff, but considering the circumstances things could have been much worse.

Urging his horse into a canter, Akefia met his younger sibling halfway up the steps to the palace gates. He dismounted and stood, mentally taking note of the shorter boy.

"You seem well enough."

Ryou beamed, a look that caused an unnatural though slightly pleasant tension to build in Bakura's stomach.

"As do you, brother. Tell me, how is Baranis?"

The lord snorted and took a light swipe at Ryou's hair. "Shut up already with the formalities. Baranis is just as filthy and full of lowlifes as it was when you left it. Now…" The lord's visage became visibly darker. "Tell me about the Pharaoh's ships."

* * *

Malik watched nervously as the siblings exchanged greetings. Even from a distance, the one known as Akefia seemed rather intimidating. He looked like Ryou. Same white hair, same eye color, same slight, if much more powerful, build. However, there were subtle differences that made them completely discernable from each other. The way the elder Bakura moved, assertively, with an air of disdain and superiority to those around him. Then there was his voice. It was dark and husky, frightening in a way Ryou's could never be.

And despite this the love between them bordered palpable. Malik could practically taste it, Ryou's brotherly affection being returned ten times over by this seemingly cruel and heartless man. He didn't know why he was suddenly feeling so emotional…why it took everything he had not to choke up and cry. It shouldn't have had such great effect on him, and yet…

* * *

_A boy huddled in the corner of an abandoned hut. It was black outside. A strange scuffling caused the youth to tremble._

"_Who…who's there?"_

_A short, derisive laugh. "Who do you think?" the voice bit out sarcastically. "The Pharaoh's whole fucking army?"_

"_Hell, Marik! How was I supposed to know? It's not as if I can see you!"_

_A hooded figure slipped through the doorway and moved to the center of the room. The faintest trace of moonlight illuminated the hollows of his face, his eyes like bright gems in the surrounding darkness. _

"_What'd you steal this time?"_

_Mariku laughed again, a sound that held startling resonance in the deep shadows of midnight. "Look at this, little brother."_

_It was a dagger. About as long as Malik's hand. Gold hilt carved with foreign lettering and studded with onyx and lapis lazuli, a wicked, delicate little blade. Malik took it from his brother's hand and examined it. Despite its size, the weapon was finely made. Light, balanced…and exceptionally sharp. _

_Mariku smirked and retrieved it from the younger blonde. "The blade's made from Damascus steel," he murmured, running his finger lightly along the dagger's edge. "And I'm not sure, but I think the carvings are in Greek." Pressing ever so lightly on the blade, he gave a short nod of approval. It cut through his thumb as though the flesh were insubstantial as unskimmed milk. A trickle of blood ran rich and poignant from the wound. _

"_Sharp, huh?"_

"_Yeah, no shit." Malik studied his brother's face. His cheek was bruised and a great deal of alien blood had left a dark stain on his cloak. "Where'd you come by it, anyway?"_

_Tossing back his hood, Marik ran still bloodied fingers through his unruly hair. "There's a foreigner staying at the inn on the other side of town. Must have been pretty wealthy judging by the number of guards he had. I didn't see his face…found this in the saddlebag next to his horse. It was wedged between a water gourd and a couple of papers."_

"_Did anyone see you?"_

"_Not until it was too late." Marik smirked, and for a moment Malik was truly frightened. "One of the soldiers grabbed me, but I slit his throat before he could raise the alarm. By the time anyone got there, I was long gone."_

_Malik nodded. By now he was used to his brother's violent ways. However, he still felt a little bit nauseous. As time went on, Mariku seemed to become increasingly heartless. "Are you going to sell it?"_

_For a moment the older Egyptian admired the wavy pattern of the stiletto's blade. "Nah, I think I'll keep it. Why discard something so pretty?"_

_Pretty? Pretty wasn't exactly the word Malik would have used to describe it, but he knew better than to argue the point with his brother. What he was really thinking about now was his hunger. They had run out of food nearly two days ago, and Marik's dagger, _pretty_ though it was, would do little to take care of that. He got up and moved towards the door._

"_Listen, I'm gonna go out and see if I can find something to eat. There's a bakery I know of back in town, and at this hour…"_

_A sudden eruption of shouts caused both fugitives to fall silent. Dread building in his belly, Malik peered outside into the night. _

_There they were. Not a hundred yards away. What had to be at least thirty horsemen galloping towards them. The man Marik had killed…they must have followed the trail of blood left behind by his cloak._

"_Shit!" The elder male realized immediately what must have occurred. "I can't believe...how could I…Malik, RUN!"_

_The youth didn't move a muscle. Run where? The hut they occupied was at the bottom of a deep ravine. They were surrounded on three sides by cliffs, and the only path out was being blocked by a group of pissed off soldiers._

"_Mariku, do something." _

_The words escaped his mouth unbidden. All Malik could do was stare dumbly at his brother. Marik would fix this. He could fix anything. He would stand up to those soldiers and…_

_The men were so near they could hear their horses' hooves even in the softness of the sand. Their voices carried, full of righteous anger and contempt._

"_The bastard must be in here! See! There's more of Salim's blood on these rushes!"_

"_Come out murderer! I'll tear you limb from limb myself!"_

_The men were almost upon them, and still Mariku did nothing. He was horrorstruck by his mistake, eyes wide as Malik had rarely seen them. A new volley of taunts pierced the night._

"_What do you say men? Do we kill the rat outright or take our time and make him scream a little?"_

"_You heard our master. His Lordship wants him brought back alive!"_

"_That doesn't mean we can't have some fun with him first! YOU HEAR THAT, THIEF? BEFORE THIS NIGHT IS THROUGH YOU'LL WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN!"_

_The thought of torture seemed to snap Marik from his daze. Grasping Malik by the arm, he dragged him to the back of the hut._

"_Brother, what are you…"_

"_Go through there." The older blonde indicated to a partially caved in portion of the shelter's mud brick wall. "When you get outside, run to the base of the ravine. A man told me once of an old path that will bring you up onto the main plateau of the desert. Robbers are supposed to have used it back when that village was still a major trading post. I don't know if it still exists, but…"_

"_Halt!" _

_Three of the men were standing in the doorway. They brandished swords and torches and grinned darkly at the sight of the boys._

"_So there's two of them, eh? Good. Maybe his Lordship will leave one for us!"_

_Marik turned. His eyes gleamed bright and terrible in the flicker of the torchlight._

"_Run, Malik. I'll be right behind you." _

_The boy needed no further encouragement. With strength he had not even known he possessed, the blonde heaved himself over the collapsed wall and out into the night. He ran for all he was worth, ran until he could hear only the raspy inhalations of his own breathing. Somehow, amidst the craggy rocks and snake infested grasses, he found the path. It was dangerous, steep and unstable, but none of this registered as Malik sprinted up the sharp incline. He didn't stop until he reached the top of the ravine. Only then did he turn to survey the damage wrought by the troops of the rich foreigner._

_The roof of the hut was on fire. Smoke rose like a great shadow into the sky, blotting out the stars' cool brilliance. Surely his brother was not still inside! No. He had said so himself. Marik could not be far behind._

_As it was, it took nearly twenty minutes before said youth finally made it to the top of the ravine. His cloak was gone, and the scars on his back shone vividly despite the darkness. The stiletto was still clenched, bloody from fighting, in his right hand._

"_Marik, are you alright?"_

"_I'm fine." With great effort, the older boy straightened to his full height. He was covered in blood, completely drenched in it. It came from a shallow gash across his chest and a deeper, rather more grievous one on the back of his thigh._

"_Your leg!"_

_Mariku ignored him and glared down at the men still in the gorge. "They saw me escaping by that path. We have to keep going." _

"_But..."_

"_Is this how you want to die?" His voice cracked, and for an instant Marik appeared to have truly lost his mind. "This wound is nothing! Ra knows I've endured worse. Now, come on!"_

* * *

It was then that they had fled into the desert. Malik could remember with stark clarity how cold it had been in the early morning stillness. They had run until daybreak, stopping only when the sun had risen fully above the dunes, making them too hot to walk upon. Marik collapsed then, and Malik had been forced to drag him to shelter beneath a small, rocky outcropping. He had lost a great deal of blood, and the younger of the two used the cloth of his shirt to stem the flow.

They had thought there was no way they could be tracked in the vastness of the desert, that all they had to worry about was the heat and finding food and water. However, revenge is a quest that fuels determination with fire, an inferno that pales only to that of carnal desire and avarice. By late afternoon, the soldiers could be seen coming over the final rise. By nightfall, they were upon them. It was then that Malik had fled, abandoned his injured brother in favor of his own life.

'_In my position he would have done the same.' _For a long time he had convinced himself of this, but the thought never did sit quite right with him. In the end, Malik came up with two conclusions. Marik may have been insane, but _he_ was the coward.

The blonde looked again in the direction of Ryou and Akefia and nearly stumbled backwards. The elder of the two was staring right at him. In his eyes was a gleam of emotion so full of anger and brutish astonishment that Malik couldn't even find the strength to avert his eyes.

_He hates me._ The thought was as irrational as it was true. _Just looking at me…it makes him nauseous. _

* * *

Four hours passed, and Malik found himself walking down a long corridor. As he neared the Lord of Baranis' chambers, Malik's legs began to tremble. He was being led by one of the servants, Ryou having mysteriously vanished immediately after the confrontation with his brother. The door leading to the lord's rooms had been stained with dark varnish, ornately decorated in a manner unfamiliar to the boy. On either side of the structure stood two guards. In passing, he could feel their eyes boring into the back of his neck.

The door opened with a creak, and suddenly Malik was alone in a dimly lit sitting room. The servant leading him had, as servants are wont to do, disappeared, and the boom of the door swinging shut had a distinctly ominous edge to it.

Hesitating a moment longer, Malik finally began to make his way forward. This room was obviously deserted. The finely crafted tables and couches appeared unused, existing as treasures on display rather than objects to be put to use. There was something lonely about them, a neglectful, polished perfection far worse than abuse or brokenness. How desperately he wished to leave this place!

On the opposite side of the chamber, there stood an archway. It was tall and narrow, a curtain of thick, purple cloth obscuring the room that lay beyond. Light shone from beneath the skirts of the fabric, unfurling with luxuriance and warmth across the cool darkness of the polished stone floor. Malik reached out, forcing his hand to grasp at the amethyst folds of the veil.

"Ex-excuse me…"

The light below the curtain shifted, as if disrupted by a living shadow. However, there was no response.

"M-Master?" The blonde was truly frightened now. "…Master Bakura, I…"

Malik stumbled to his knees as the curtain was wrenched violently open. Akefia Bakura stood at the lit room's threshold. The lamplight pouring through the archway was gold and radiant, contrasting sharply with the figure himself, all coldness, chill and white and hard and wraithlike.

Malik wilted beneath the garnet intensity of his glare. "…your l-lordship…I-I was sent here by…"

"I know why you're here."

Turning abruptly, the ruler of Baranis reentered his bedroom. The blonde slunk quietly in behind him. Compared to the sitting room, this place was relatively well lit. However, there was still an eeriness to it, not of disuse this time, but of reclusion. The lord's bedroom was smaller than he would have guessed, small and strangely…intimate. Unmade bed, a mess of papers strewn carelessly across the desk. A half-eaten plate of food sat on the windowsill, a large tabby cat eyeing it from his place in the corner.

"Suit you well enough?"

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Malik whipped around to find Bakura lounging on a shabby looking futon. His brows were furrowed, handsome and malevolent, lips pulled into a disturbingly fetching sneer.

"What's your name again, boy?"

Malik flinched, causing the other's frown to darken further. "M-my name…my name is…is Ma…"

Bakura laughed viciously. "Wh-why d-d-don't you stop…s-stop stuttering a-and tell me?"

"Namu," the blonde gasped. "My name is Namu!"

"Namu, hmm? Well now, that's rather dull."

Moving with the fluidity and deliberation of a snake, the pale-haired noble stood and moved towards Malik. He circled him lazily, eyes roving unashamed across the slave's quivering body. The linen smock the boy wore seemed less substantial than air standing up to this acrid, mocking gaze. It held neither compassion nor admiration, only hatred, revulsion, contemptuous lust.

"Where did my brother find you? A brothel?" Bakura let loose a barking laugh. "God, you even cringe like a whore!"

Malik said nothing. Akefia was testing him, probing for weakness, seeking to illicit any type of reaction. What exactly was he playing at?

"And this hair, huh? So soft…you've never been mistaken for a woman before, have you?"

The blonde shook his head, trying to ignore the pale hand stroking his bangs, too harsh to be anywhere near comforting. It didn't stop there. Slowly, the fingers continued exploring. They brushed over his cheeks, his eyelids, the fine gold hairs at his temples and the back of his neck. The other palm slid across his chest, pausing for a fraction of a second as they came into contact with the boy's shamefully erect nipples.

"Tell me, Namu, how do you like it? Do I get you off?"

Blood rushing to his cheeks, Malik tried thoughtlessly to jerk away. This served no other purpose than to piss Bakura off. The slave let out a sharp yelp as a fist connected sharply with his lower jaw.

"What's the matter, boy? Are you really that afraid of me?"

Barely registering what his master was saying, the slave scrambled dumbly towards the other side of the room. His jaw ached. His vision was spinning. All he could do was…

Malik yelled in surprise as a powerful, icy hand grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him forward. Bakura was laughing, a derisive, humorless sound that caused bile to rise in his throat.

_What…what have I done…for him to hate me so already?_

"Idiot, stand up!" Grabbing the boy by the collar, Bakura jerked him to his feet. The linen rode high on Malik's hips, revealing legs that quivered fearfully.

"Where did you learn to be such a bitch, little Namu? Come on! Fight me!"

Malik screamed as he was thrown onto the bed. The sheets smelled of sweat and bath oils. He had bitten his lip, and it was now bleeding.

"COME ON, NAMU! THROW A PUNCH!"

Even in his current state, the blonde began to notice something strange. Bakura's threats had gone beyond taunting. There was a desperation to them now. A neediness. The lord would really like nothing better than for him to fight back, but…but _why?_ What sort of sick fetish was this? The lord's weight was bearing down upon him. He could feel his breath, hot and bitter, against the back of his neck. Burying his face in the embroidered blankets, Malik began to cry.

* * *

Bakura didn't feel bad for his treatment of the boy. He really didn't. At this point, he was so pissed off and confused that the emotions of the other seemed trivial at best. Trembling. Furtive, nervous glances. Chewing subconsciously at his lower lip until it was flush and swollen. _What a perfect picture of naivety and submission! _Akefia hated it, loathed it! Weakness was pathetic, a disease, something that sickened him far more than the gore and ferocity of battle.

Sneering in disgust when he noticed his plaything's tears, the lord straddled the boy's lower back and dragged his tongue mockingly over his salt-stained cheek.

"You look repulsive. Your eyelids are red and puffy. You're crying like a little girl!"

Namu began to sob harder, his position, as well as Bakura's weight pressed down upon him, causing him to hiccough and hyperventilate. The sound caused the noble's hard on to twitch in anticipation.

"You're ugly! Your breath smells like semen! You're nothing li…"

Catching himself before his thoughtless and irrational insults went too far, the pale man used his biting fingers to map out the expanse of the blonde's back. There was no denying his beauty, but this revelation only caused Akefia to hate him more. Such beauty should be reserved for the strong. This weak, pitiable, useless imposter did not deserve it.

These thoughts caused Bakura's blood to boil. His nails dug deeper into the flesh of Namu's back. The linen of his smock was cheap. It tore as easily as papyrus beneath his fingertips.

* * *

**-TOT** (I was finally able to create a decent cliffhanger! Next time: the result of this conflict as well as some new character appearances! Stay tuned! Heh, heh…sorry about that. Anyway, thanks for the reviews. I hope Enchantment lives up to your expectations.) 


	4. Like Heaven

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 4: **_Like Heaven_

* * *

'_His nails dug deeply into the flesh of Namu's back. The linen of his smock was cheap. It tore as easily as papyrus beneath his fingertips.'_

* * *

For a moment Bakura did not speak. He simply stared, awestruck, at the tattoos marring his new slave's back.

Malik shivered. _What's wrong? Why…why is he looking at me like that?_ Thrashing desperately, he managed roll out from beneath the larger male. He was halfway to the door when Bakura struck. A foot flew out, and somehow the blonde found himself crumpling to the floor.

"Please, Master! Let me…"

The slave yelled in pain as that same foot collided with his chest. It forced him down, and before he knew it Malik was lying flat on his back.

"I-I don't want to…" He tried to get up, but the lord's foot kept him pinned securely to the floor. "…please…"

"Shut up."

Bakura's glare was all fire, alive with malice and contempt. His handsome face was twisted into a snarl, and, coupled with the faint scent of arousal radiating from his body, this made him appear almost feral. Violence and sex defined him. His cruelty was laced with something almost dazzling.

"How? How did you get them?"

Malik sobbed. The lord's foot was crushing his lungs. It was becoming difficult to breathe. "I don't…I don't…"

"TELL ME!"

Saliva flew from the man's mouth as he screamed. He looked possessed, demented, a chimera from the most horrible night terror.

"Tell you _what?_ What…what do you want from me?"

"The markings on your back! Where did they…"

"MY FATHER!" The blonde's voice cracked painfully as he spoke. He didn't want to think about that. Not at a time like this when he already felt a little bit like dying.

"…your _father_…"

The pressure on his chest was removed, and Malik was allowed to sit up.

"Y-yes."

"Not an accident…"

"Well, obviously."

The boy covered his mouth in horror. He hadn't meant to be so insulting. It just sort of popped out.

"Oh Ra! I-I didn't mean that! Master, please! Please don't…"

But Bakura wasn't listening. He was…he was staring out the window, a curious expression on his face. Seeing his chance, Malik began to slink away.

"Don't move."

Eyes not straying from the window, Akefia beckoned the terrified boy back into his room. "Lie down on the bed. I've not dismissed you yet."

* * *

Watching as the young slave pulled himself uneasily onto the mess of blankets, Bakura felt an unwelcome stab of remorse. He didn't mean to treat him so badly. It wasn't Namu's fault that he…

_Don't make the same mistake twice, Akefia._

Hair disheveled. Clothes torn. His half naked body, quivering and covered with sweat. So vulnerable. Disgustingly vulnerable. Bakura was on him in an instant. He bit at his lips, abusing them until they were swollen and red. His skin tasted good, salty and warm. The paler male buried his face in the crook of the blonde's neck. He sucked heavily at the hollow of his collar bone. The response was gratifying…arching of the back, a fearful, desperate gasp.

"M-master…"

"Silence. I won't promise to be gentle, Namu, but I can make you like this...that is, only if you behave."

For a moment the slave tensed up. Then, lowering his eyes in resignation, he gave in with a jerky little nod.

Things progressed quickly after that. Within instants they were both naked, Bakura grinding the boy's erection solidly against his own. Namu tried to stifle a moan. His eyelids fell. His cheeks were flushed with arousal and shame. _This is the first time he's experienced anything like this._ The thought made the young lord harden further. Now more than ever, he was glad he hadn't raped him.

"You like it?"

"…uh...u-uh…"

He smirked. "Told you."

Grasping his plaything by the thighs, Bakura jerked him onto his lap. He grunted as the boy's pert nipples were crushed against his torso. They tickled pleasurably his overly sensitive skin.

"You gonna blow me?"

He smirked at the blonde's wide-eyed reply.

"Y-you mean you want me to…I've never…"

"Only one way to learn."

Grasping Namu's hands firmly in his own, he guided them forcefully to his erection. "Up and down," he grunted. "Faster."

The slave complied, gaping in fear and astonishment as the flesh began to swell beneath his fingertips.

"Good boy." Pulling himself out from beneath the other, Bakura allowed Namu to remove his hands, only to begin guiding his head in the same direction. At the same time he spread his legs. "I want you to suck me."

The Egyptian balked. "I…I can't!"

Akefia backhanded him, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. "Don't pull that shit with me, Namu. I've played nice so far, but my patience is rather lacking. Now get on with it!"

Looking as if he would start crying again at any moment, Namu gingerly took the head of Bakura's shaft into his mouth. The lord let out a throaty moan. Unexpectedly taking initiative, the blonde took a bit more in. His mouth felt _good_. Small and damp and hot. Sure it wasn't the best head he'd ever had, but who was complaining? This was the first time in months Bakura had acted on his libido, and he sure as hell was going to take advantage.

"That's enough. Now lay down on your stomach, knees bent."

"My stomach?" Malik looked up, a trail of saliva strung out between his lips and his master's member. "A-are you going to…"

"_Namu."_

Without another word, the boy flipped over. Bakura flinched when he saw the scars but closed his eyes and proceeded. He would simply have to bear their roughness against his skin.

"Open sesame."

"What?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just spread your legs."

Namu complied, but his entire body was shivering. Laying flat against the blonde's back, Bakura nipped delicately at his earlobe.

"If you were smart, you would relax. It makes this part a lot easier."

Not waiting for a reply, he shoved two fingers into the other's entrance. The boy screamed and tried to jerk away, but he held him down determinedly. He began to scissor back and forth, all the while trying to distract the other with bites and occasional kisses.

"Shh…"

"It _hurts!_"

"Shut up. That's only because…GODDAMN IT!"

In a last ditch attempt to escape, Namu twisted around. He managed to get one elbow under him. The other, however, collided squarely with his master's nose.

"Oh shit!"

"Shit? You're telling me! Now lie down and keep your fucking mouth shut!"

Pinning his slave more securely against the mattress, Bakura shoved a third finger in with the others. He ignored the blood running down his chin, concentrating instead on stretching the boy until he finally began to relax.

"You're ready."

Namu threw him a horrified glance, but, true to his orders, remained silent.

"It's fun, trust me." Angling his fingers with practiced ease, Bakura brushed lightly against a certain bundle of nerves. The boy's eyes flew shut. He buried his face in the pillows and moaned.

"I told you," the lord grumbled, withdrawing his fingers. "It's worth the pain." Taking his chance while Namu was still pleasurably incapacitated, he began guiding his member towards the boy's entrance.

"…fucking hell…"

A virgin ass. It was so good, so tight, so… Bakura hadn't had it this good in a long time. Vaguely he could hear the blonde crying, but the sobs didn't seem to register. He was alone in his own world now. His eyes remained closed, his mind momentarily lost in another point in time.

'"…_Ra, I…I can't…"_

"_No, not yet. Just a minute longer."_

"_Harder! You have to…"_

_Two bodies locked in a violent embrace: bucking hips, rocking shoulders, harsh and strangely resonant cries. They lay out in the open, sand beneath them--above, the cold, endless radiance of the stars. Their limbs were entangled, their calloused hands caressing, squeezing, giving everything they had left. Pure enchantment. The closest they would ever come to rapture._

"_Damnit, Akefia! I'm gonna…"_

"_I-I know! Me too."_

"…_harder…"_

"…_I'm trying…"_

"_Oh fuck…"'_

_The climax, short and sweet. No, not sweet. Hot. Tempestuous. Amazing and beautiful in every way._

"_Gods, you feel like Heaven."_

_Exhausted, rasping laughter. "I have neither the patience nor the faith for Heaven. I'd rather find Paradise now."'_

* * *

Ryou awoke early the next morning, tired and sick with remorse. He had lain awake almost the entire night, worrying his heart out over Namu. _What_ _was I thinking, handing him over to my brother like that?_ It was beyond reprehensible. Ryou was bound to go to hell for this one.

The sun had yet to breach the horizon, but the boy could wait no longer. The stone was chill beneath his feet as he made his way down the hall towards his brother's chambers. He didn't want to risk Akefia's anger. However, in the pale boy's mind, guilt had overruled reason. He nodded silently to the two sentinels at his brother's door. They let him by without so much as a second glance.

He had never liked the first room of his brother's quarters. It was too quiet, lifeless, a storage house for family heirlooms: golden vessels, Grecian maps, furniture made of teak wood imported all the way from India. No one used any of it. Their riches simply piled up…would have been heavy with dust if not for the maids' scrupulous eyes. It was strange that someone so bent on family vengeance as Akefia should shun such relics. They were remnants from a legacy across the sea. If anything, the lord of Baranis should have treasured them…but alas, the enigma that was Bakura.

The few things Ryou's brother did value were generally kept in his room. Swords, maps of Egypt, his books; Bakura had tons of them. Scrolls upon scrolls. Thick volumes bound in vellum and silk. Most of them were concerned with war tactics and geography, but there were a few classics thrown in as well. Aristole. Plutarch. Histories. The stories of Achilles, of Odysseus and other ancient characters. Lying in piles. Stashed everywhere in the young lord's bedroom.

Pushing back the curtain, Ryou peered into the enclosure. At first glance, it appeared so peaceful. The first glimmer of morning flooded in through the window, bathing the chamber's untidiness, a trait that was in its own way almost charming, in the dusty hues of first light.

The blankets on the bed were twisted in such a way that, at first, Ryou missed the boy lying beneath them. Only on closer inspection did he see Namu. The slave was out like a light, wrapped up like a cocoon and sporting a bruise of vivid purple on one cheek. Ryou had neither the heart nor the courage to wake him. Instead he stood there and stared, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

_He's beautiful. Absolutely…absolutely gorgeous…_

The pale-faced boy reached out, allowing his fingers to caress the side of Namu's face. His skin felt smooth and warm, his tousled hair soft to the touch. Ryou longed for that warmth, for the comforting softness of those bangs, strangely bright in the cool light of morning. He was often lonely here in Baranis. He had his brother, of course, but Akefia was often gone on trips…that, and he could be so unbearably cruel. Ryou didn't have any friends in the city, either. The majority of Baranis' population was made up of criminals, people Ryou wouldn't be permitted to associate with even if he wanted to.

This left the boy very lonely at times. He was sixteen. He longed for a companion, for someone to talk to. _But not with Namu_. Thanks to his thoughtlessness, the chance of forming even the slightest of friendships with the blonde had plummeted straight out the window.

Reluctantly, Ryou pulled away from the sleeping slave. He would have liked to stay with him longer, to find away of expressing how truly sorry he was for what he'd done, but now was not the time. He had to find his brother.

* * *

Akefia was in the armory, a place he often hid when under a great deal of stress. He looked up as Ryou walked in. His glare was less sharp than usual.

"What do you want?"

The younger of the two repressed the urge to roll his eyes. At times, Bakura's voice could sound ridiculously whiny. "What I want is to explain myself, Akefia. I need to apologize."

"Apologize?" The young lord appeared suddenly weary…tired beyond his years. "Don't…don't bother. It doesn't…"

"It _does_ matter!" Ryou pulled himself to full height, trying, perhaps, to channel some of his brother's blistering authority. "I-I didn't mean to make you mad…or…upset you. It's just that…Akefia, _why?_ Why did you…"

Ryou's words died to nothing at the look his brother gave him. It was the stare of a wounded animal, ugly and tortured, wild with an untamed anger he had thought no human being capable of possessing.

"Do not speak of this thing, little brother. I will not…I will not hear it."

For a moment he thought Akefia's voice was going to crack, but at the last minute the elder Bakura managed to pull himself back together. He was a master craftsman, keeper of the art of the imperial mask.

Ryou swallowed dryly. If his brother did not wish to speak of something, not even the gods themselves could pry it from him. The youth, instead, opted for a change of conversation. Something else was bothering him.

"And Namu? Is he…"

"The boy is fine." Bakura frowned slightly, shaking his head as if to get rid of something pesky buzzing in his ear. "I didn't…he's not injured or anything? No, of course not. Still sleeping where I left him, I'm sure…"

The younger nodded slowly, but continued to scrutinize his brother. Akefia appeared to be struggling with some sort of question. Ryou sighed.

"What is it?"

Akefia jerked, startled by his brother's astuteness. "W-where did you come by him? This Namu person?"

"He certainly is peculiar, isn't he?"

The lord nodded, his brows still stuck in a preoccupied furrow.

"As I've already told you, I found him at a slave auction in Alexandria." A melancholy, little smile lit on Ryou's face as he recalled the unfit rankness of that market. "He told me he was from a farm on the delta…but I'm almost positive that was a lie. I mean, he looks so…"

"Yes," Akefia agreed a little too sharply. "Yes, I know that."

* * *

An hour later Namu woke up. Ryou could hear him thrashing about upstairs. He still felt terribly guilty for what he'd done.

_It won't be that bad, Namu. Akefia's not evil. He's just..._

But just exactly what Akefia was Ryou never got the chance to think up. At that moment a great commotion rose from the streets. The excited shouts of the townsfolk. The braying of horses and the squeal of chariot spokes. Thoughts momentarily forgotten, the youth threw open his window and peered out into the dusty streets of Baranis.

It was a caravan. A large one, making its way majestically towards the palace gates. Ryou couldn't make out the figure at the head, surrounded as he was by soldiers and swathed in battle armor. He rode a fine horse, one of those European ones with big hooves and a muscular neck. As the group drew nearer, the man's face remained obscured by a dark hood that shut out the sun…but the hood made no difference. With a mingled sense of anxiety and dread, Ryou stared at the caravan's banner, held aloft by two flag-bearers riding on either side of their leader.

"A black flag," he muttered.

_There is only one man with the audacity to fly a black flag during a meeting of allies._

* * *

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't consider himself suicidal. Nor depressed, for that matter. No. The fact that he wished for death, longed for it, dwelt upon it with his every waking moment, had nothing to do with a diseased mind. Rather, this fetish was a direct result of his environment. There was only one problem. He was too proud to kill himself.

Too proud and much too stubborn. Which was why, for some time now, he had been hoping for a stroke of luck. A falling statue. Water poisoning. Malaria. To be honest, the young man didn't really care. He had simply had enough. Pain he could deal with. Drawn out, bone-splitting, terrible, unending, embarrassing agony? Not so much. It all came back to that pride thing. Sure, it would be easier for him to just lie down and take it, but the youth's brain tended to value ego over physical wellbeing. In short, he liked to piss people off.

_It's fucking cold out here. _He stood on the battlements, staring out across a moonlit waste of sand dunes. They seemed to roll on forever in all directions, occasionally pierced by an island of desert shrubbery or rocky spires. The full moon shone down on all of this, mocking in its pristine whiteness, in the fact that it could retain beauty despite the fault of its surface, the imperfection of its scars. The man snorted. He had never much liked the moon. It was too bright. Because of it, he could barely see the stars.

Shivering, he folded his arms against his chest. _Ra damn it, why am I out here? _His own body seemed foreign to him. It was too small, too…poky. But that was to be expected, wasn't it? _I haven't eaten in three days._ How bizarre. He wasn't even hungry. No. Scratch that. He was _starving_. He was ravenous. He would have licked the sand from the very walls of this fortress if his pride hadn't…

Damn. That pride thing again.

Turning his face from the moon, the youth began descending the staircase that led back to the courtyard. He could feel the eyes of the guards upon him. They wouldn't touch him—e_ven if they wanted to, seeing the state I'm in now_—but they wouldn't allow him to escape either

"Tell me…" His voice rang out, hoarse and ghastly, in the midnight stillness. "What's the first thing the Gods ask for when you come to them before the scales?"

No answer. There never was.

"Nothing, you fools! They already have your heart!" The young man laughed raucously at his own joke, laughed until his breath caught in his throat and he collapsed instead into a fit of coughing. His lungs ached. His head was throbbing. He was on the last stair, but the earth seemed so far away. He stumbled, caught himself, and stumbled again.

The next thing he knew, the youth was on his back, staring up at that cursed moon. He didn't have the strength to get up. Master was going to be gone for a few days and maybe if he slept out here, maybe…

_I could freeze to death_. The thought was rather appealing. _Underweight. Dehydrated._ _Hell, I'm probably anemic! It wouldn't take much. Just a few degrees cooler and…_

"You! Return to your quarters at once!"

He looked up. It was a guard, a young guard, peering down at him earnestly from one of the watchtowers. How annoying. What was it to this man if he felt like dying? Certainly, it wasn't any of his business! Lurching to his feet, he blew the sentinel a kiss, topping it off with a flirtatious and rather overdone wink.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

He laughed all the way back to the palace, the look of pity and disgust that had flashed across the young guard's face still sharp and poignant in his mind.

And he was disgusting, wasn't he? Bony and limping. His hair falling out and his nails discolored with malnourishment. Not that he had exactly considered himself a sex god in the first place. Even in his prime, he hadn't been what you would call appealing. No. He was always too callous, too heartless, too crazy, too…too expendable. But that was okay. It was their problem, not his, right? _Right._

_Great. Now I'm answering my own questions. Does that mean I've finally lost it? I'm a wacko, a fucking nut. If only Father could see me now!_

Somehow, the youth had managed to find his quarters. A blanket in the corner of his master's lavish bedroom. He supposed he could have slept in the lord's bed if he had wished to, but…but no. The thought itself was repugnant.

Lying down, he tried to stretch. The result was excruciatingly painful. His back was hurting, always hurting. Constantly, perpetually, unendingly in pain. The agony was relentless, but it was darkness that he truly found unnerving. Here in his master's vacant chambers…silence, shadows, like a crypt, like passages hidden deep within the earth. He had horrible nightmares about it. The dreams were terrible, full of haunts and phantoms, creatures Hell alone could dream up. Sometimes he would wake from them sobbing, but he never cried out.

It was that pride thing again, damn it. He just couldn't get rid of it.

* * *

**-TOT** (This is definitely my favorite chapter so far. The plot's finally starting to fall into place, and I feel that characterization is coming along nicely. I even managed a quick update! Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up by the end of Christmas break.)

(BTW, thanks for the reviews! I love knowing what you think of my stories.)


	5. By All Means

**Enchantment**

**Chapter Five: By All Means**

* * *

Yami Atemu read the letter twice before handing it back to the messenger. _700 men, 300 of them cavalry, to be marched south to Abydos with great haste. _So the rebels were attacking at last. He could hardly believe it.

"General Atemu?" The messenger was young, fleet of foot, the kind of unskilled, energetic youth that old men at the capitol were so fond of sending off to die.

"Yes?"

"What is your decision? I must tell the counsel by night fall."

The general sighed, his shoulders slumping so that he seemed old beyond his years. "Tell them that I will be ready in three days. I need time to gather forces and supplies. Then we will march to Abydos."

The herald bowed and quickly made his leave. Atemu watched him go. His heart was heavy with worry. Seth was his cousin, and Abydos was a long ways off. _Hold them off, my friend. We're coming as fast as we can._

* * *

Malik wandered the palace in a nauseous daze. The pain in his lower back was appalling, and as hard as he tried not to think of it, images from the previous night continued playing in his head. The harshness of Bakura's hands, his verbal abuse, the acrid hiss of his breath as he buried his face into the crook of the young blonde's neck.

The memory was still brutally clear in his mind. It had been his first time. Not that Malik had planned on 'waiting for someone special.' Far from it. He simply wished that…that…

_That I had a choice. That he wouldn't have just…_

Raped him. That's what it was, wasn't it? Forced sex? It didn't matter that Akefia hadn't beat the living hell out of him beforehand. The act had still been against Malik's wishes. He had every right to be upset, every right to feel queasy and used and…

'"_Stop whining already. There are plenty of people worse off than you."'_

"SHUT _UP!_" Malik whipped around angrily, searching for…

Searching for what? There was no one there. There never was. The boy sighed. He wanted someone to talk to. It had been so long since he had enjoyed the company of a friend. Not since Rishid's death had he had someone he could truly confide in. Mariku didn't count. He wasn't a friend. He was a…what _was_ Marik, anyway? A brother? A curse? Before, Malik had been blinded by his adoration, but the previous night's events had changed him, brought to him to a higher level of wisdom previously untapped.

Mariku was no Adonis, no creature of holy and terrible perfection. He was simply a man. A man like Bakura, brutish and manipulative. A product of his environment, of a society that screamed, "Kill or be killed. Weakness is death." He was nothing special. Just another lowbred bastard, trying to survive, to see just how much he could scrape up and steal before it all came crashing down.

And that's exactly what had happened. Mariku was dead. Dead like Isis, like Rishid, like their father. Gone forever. Bleached bones beneath an unforgiving sky.

"Then why can I still hear him?" Malik sank to his knees. "Why won't he ever shut up?"

"Why won't who shut up?"

Ryou stood near a window at the end of the hall. The sunshine played on his already pale hair, glowing so brightly it was hard to look at. Caught up in a halo of sunlight laced bangs, his face appeared luminous. He was an angel, beautiful and taintless, herald of something that transcended mortality, of something altogether sublime.

"He didn't believe in angels."

The ethereal boy raised an eyebrow. "W-what? Who didn't? Namu, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Forgetting all formalities and honorifics, Malik rose to his feet. "What was all that noise coming from outside?"

"Oh, that." Ryou flushed, a curious pink tinting the divine whiteness of his cheeks. "It's Anubis, one of my brother's allies. They're having some sort of military conference."

"Are you going?"

The paler shook his head. "No. No, I…I don't like Anubis all that much. He makes me nervous."

"Oh."

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched before them. They stared at each other with the intensity of a first meeting. Brown eyes met violet. Luxurious, sandy skin contrasted sharply with a pallor that could be likened Grecian marble. They had to be around the same age. A year apart at most. Ryou cleared his throat.

"Namu, I'm…I'm sorry for what Akefia did to you, for what I did to you. It was…it was a…a mistake. I-I don't know how…"

In an instant Ryou was crying. Crying hard and fast, crying because he was a good person…because guilt and empathy were just that hard to stomach. He stepped forward, out of the sunlight…no longer an angel, just a boy. _A boy who is crying for me._ Ryou Bakura of Baranis. Brother of Akefia. The one who had bought him from a man named Miso and carried him off to some distant corner of Egypt by way of sea and marshland.

"It…it's alright. I'm not angry, Ryou."

The other smiled, tears still clinging to his cheeks. "Of course you're angry, Namu. You have every right to be."

* * *

Anubis was the last person Bakura wanted to speak to at the moment. He couldn't bear the thought of that brutal face, of those hulking shoulders, of those hands, calloused and rough, glinting with gaudy rings and about as gentle as a pair of anvils. _Why is he here, anyway?_ Akefia had already sent the requested troops towards Abydos. What more could the Rebel King possibly ask for?

They were seated together in the dining hall, waiting to be served. Prudently, Bakura allowed Anubis to sit at the head of the table. The man fancied himself a king…that, and they were surrounded by nearly fifty of his most trusted bodyguards. They lurked behind pillars, in doorways, by vases. Anubis was as crafty as he was cruel. To go against him would be suicide, and Bakura knew it. Why, then, did he allow such a man to infiltrate his palace?

Simple. Anubis was a powerful ally. Without him, Akefia's goals would be rendered all but useless.

"I sent the contingent of 500 men as requested. They should be meeting up with your own forces in less than a fortnight."

The large man nodded, his dirt blond hair fluttering listlessly about his face. "Very good, Akefia, but a new problem has arisen."

"A problem?" An unpleasant sensation churned within the young lord's stomach. "What kind of problem?"

"It seems Seth has gotten wind of our attack plans. He sent a request to Alexandria for reinforcements."

"Oh?"

Anubis smiled, his yellow teeth flashing dangerously. "No thoughts as to how he might have found out about this…hmm, Akefia?"

"I've no idea."

_Match him. Stare for stare. Grin for grin. Prove to him that you have nothing to hide, that you are not one to be intimidated so easily._

For a long moment the older man studied him, mocking eyes searching for any sign of betrayal, testing him. Determinedly, Bakura held his gaze. He wasn't lying. He really had no idea how the priest of Abydos had learned of their plans…but somehow Seth had found out, and it was imperative he prove this fact had nothing to do with him.

Finally, after several tense minutes of battling wits, Anubis relaxed back into his chair. "I've always liked you, Bakura." He smirked, taking a large gulp of wine. "Tactful. Intelligent. Valuable. You remind me of myself, actually."

Forcing a smile, Akefia tried desperately to quell the bile rising in his throat. _I am nothing like you, Anubis! Your very presence disgusts me._

"So what do you propose we do? About the reinforcements, I mean?"

The older man sighed and leaned back in his chair. "We'll have to call off the siege. Instead, we'll send the troops north, cut them off before they even get near Abydos."

"But that still leaves Seth."

"I know. The bastard's smart, and if it's true he has a spy in our ranks…"

"Trick him." Bakura smirked despite himself. It was so simple! "We'll send my 500 men north to take care of those coming in from Alexandria. Meanwhile, your 1000 will lay siege on Abydos. Believing reinforcements are on their way, Seth will be more willing to expend his resources in battle. By the time he realizes his mistake, it'll be too late."

For a moment Anubis said nothing. Then he began to laugh. The sound was, at first, barely audible, but it quickly began to swell. Within seconds, the dining hall was ringing with it, manic laughter…cruel and deadly.

Bakura studied the other nervously. What had he said? It seemed like a good plan to him. Making sure his face disclosed no trace of uncertainty, he waited for the Rebel King to regain his composure.

The last of his chuckles still echoing through the palace, Anubis finally turned to his younger accomplice. "It's perfect, Bakura. Practically full proof. There's just one thing."

Akefia gave an inward sigh of relief. "What is it?"

"I don't like the idea of only your men going to stop the Pharaoh's soldiers. We'll send 200 of yours, 300 of my own. The rest will lay siege on Abydos."

Angered by this blatant show of distrust, Bakura opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it at the last minute. Anubis was a powerful man, not to mention a dangerous one. There was no harm in letting him get his way…at least for now.

* * *

Malik and Ryou were still shivering. The laughter from the dining hall, it was…it was _horrible_. Who was this man named Anubis? More importantly, what was his business with Bakura? The young slave was hoping Ryou might clarify things, but the boy was beside himself at the moment. He was still shaky from his outburst in the hallway, and the appearance of the so-called Rebel King had only made matters worse.

"Oh Ra!" Slumping against the wall, the young noble curled in upon himself. "Why?" he whispered. "Why can't he just go away?"

"Shh…" Unsure of himself, Malik gave the boy a hesitant pat on the head. He was still a bit wary, still sore from the maltreatment both brothers had inflicted…but he liked Ryou. There was something about him, something fresh and wonderful. It was a sort of humaneness, a genuine kindness that, in the blonde's experience, was very hard to come by.

Yet there was something more, something deeper that drew Malik not only to Ryou, but to Akefia as well. It was…it was what? A secret. A riddle. Something that was always there, hidden just below the surface.

"Master Ryou?" Malik allowed the youth to lean against him. He was concerned by the paler boy's distress, concerned and desperately curious. "Who is this man? Why all the fuss if he is one of your brother's allies?"

For a moment Ryou said nothing. He was facing Malik, yet his gaze seemed miles away. The blonde was unnerved by those eyes, brown and beautiful and full of sadness. Not personal sorrow necessarily, but a sort of universal sympathy. He wept, but the tears were not his own. Rather, they were shed for the brutality of existence, for the wickedness of men's hearts and the futility of trying to combat it.

"Namu, can I tell you a story?"

The slave blinked. "A what?"

"A story." Ryou smiled, a gesture made all the more radiant by his tears. "It has to do with Anubis…and you as well."

"A-alright, sure."

"It's a long story, but I'm willing to tell you…on one condition."

"And what condition is that?"

Hands trembling slightly, Ryou reached up and cupped his face. So close…their noses were inches apart. Malik was seized by the sudden urge to kiss him. To feel those warm lips, shimmering with moisture, pressed flush against his own.

Instead, he repeated his question. "What is your condition?"

The pale youth smiled. "Tell me, what is your real name?"

* * *

The food came. Roasted game birds. Goats' milk. More wine. Fruit of every conceivable shape and color. To Bakura it all seemed a bit lavish. He wasn't even hungry, but this meal was a good sign. The sooner it was over, the sooner Anubis would leave…go back to his little fortress, tucked away in some corner of the sandy maw that was the Western Sahara.

"I'm curious," the Rebel King murmured, juice from the meat dribbling down his chin. "Why you don't keep more slaves around. Last time I came, they were everywhere. That one especially, you remember…"

"Yes, of course." Akefia tried to smile, but only succeeded in gritting his teeth. Anubis was a monster, a sadist from the deepest circle of Hell. He reveled in probing the wounds of friend and a foe alike. "Of course I remember."

Apparently oblivious to his companion's pained expression, the older man continued. "A good slave. Nice and strong…a bit unmanageable, though. Wouldn't you agree?"

Bakura closed his eyes, the world around him threatening to split apart. _Damn you, Anubis. One day I swear…_

"Yes." He swallowed hard. "A bit unmanageable."

Anubis tore another drumstick from one of the birds and took a large bite. "I think you'd be surprised though, how well he's come along under my care."

"…would I?"

"Oh, yes." The man waved the leg cordially in his direction. "His manners have improved dramatically. That, and he's picked up on a few new talents. Really, I'll have to bring him along next time. I'm afraid you'll find him completely unrecognizable!"

The grapes he had been eating fell unnoticed onto the floor. It took a moment for the significance of these words began to register in Bakura's mind. For a long time he stared stupidly at Anubis. Lank hair, protruding nose, his mouth…small and delicate, curved so subtly that you could barely tell he was smiling.

_I hate him. Oh Gods, I hate him! What should I do? He's still looking at me, testing me! That bastard…match him. MATCH HIM! _

The expression that forced its way across Akefia's face seemed more a splitting gash than an actual smile. Still, he managed to sustain it. _I will not lose to you, Anubis! I will not lose to anyone!_

"Unrecognizable, you say?" The lord of Baranis took up his napkin and dabbed deftly at a bit of wine clinging to his lower lip. "I suppose I'd have to see it to believe it, now wouldn't I?"

* * *

_Hmm…I should have waited for a waning moon._ Staring up at the sky, Touzouko frowned. Under normal circumstances he would never attempt something this risky. _A palace burglary under the light of a full moon. It's practically suicidal!_ However, these circumstances were far from typical. The lord of the oasis had been gone for three nights now, and there was no telling when he would return. Touzouko knew this was the perfect time to strike. Without a master to protect, the guards—ranks already thinned since many were traveling with their leader—would be less vigilant than usual.

Humming tunelessly to himself, the thief urged his horse into a canter. The oasis was just over the next rise. He smirked. The ruler of this little city was a rich and powerful man. In fact, excluding the innkeepers and whores, the town's population was made up almost entirely of soldiers loyal to him.

_Which will not prove at all beneficial for me if I happen to fuck this up._

Leaving his horse to graze at the outskirts of the oasis, Touzouko entered the town. He wore sand-colored robes with a broad hood to disguise his peculiarly white hair and other features. He was nervous, but the nervousness only served to push him further. He didn't steal because he had to. He stole for the fun of it, for the infamy, for the adrenaline-induced rush that was almost sexual in its intensity.

Strolling past the various brothels and other establishments that lined the city's main road, Touzouko allowed his fingers to travel to the roll of parchment tucked away in his robes. This piece of paper was his key to accessing the main fortress. He had stolen it from a man he found wandering the desert several months ago. The unfortunate had been lost for nearly six days—was delirious with hunger and dehydration—but the thief had managed to gather enough information before he passed away to know that he was a messenger seeking out the lord of this oasis.

The letter carried a peculiar seal. Three hands. One held a spindle, another a measuring rod. The final hand was enclosed around a pair of shears. All of this was cast in red wax, thicker than that which he was used to. Touzouko had never seen markings like these. They didn't resemble any of the religious symbolism found in Egypt. No…they were much too realistic. However, it made no difference. All that mattered was that he had the letter.

As the thief rounded the corner, he felt a sudden jolt of excitement. The palace rose before him. _So close…less than fifty paces_. He could see the men guarding the gate, hear their laughter and feel their inquisitive eyes upon him. His stomach felt as if it were rising to his throat. His palms had begun to sweat.

_This is the moment I live for…_

"You there! Halt!"

_Hesitate a moment. Then…_

With a grace almost startling for such a muscular form, Touzouko bowed. "I bring a message for his Excellency, lord of this oasis."

"A message?" The eldest of the guards peered down at him skeptically. "Let's see it!"

_Show them now. Not too hastily! It'll seem suspicious_.

"Here it is." He withdrew the paper slowly from his robes.

For a moment, the head guard appeared indecisive. Then he turned to one of his subordinates.

"Open the gates, but don't for an instant let him out of your site!"

As the gates swung open, Touzouko forced himself to remain calm. This was only one step forward. He had a long way to go, and there were many things yet that could go wrong.

"Alright, let's see the letter!"

Touzouko held the paper up, careful to keep it well out of the other man's reach.

"What does it contain?"

"I don't know," the thief answered truthfully. "I can't read."

"Then give it to me."

_Damn…_

"I cannot. I have received express orders to deliver this letter to no one but your master."

The guard leered. "At least you can tell me who _your_ master is, or is that also a secret?"

_Think you're clever, do you?_

"This, I think, is proof enough." Touzouko held the scroll a little higher, allowing moonlight to illuminate the bizarre seal. He smirked inwardly at the shocked expressions of the men. "You see now that I have nothing to hide. Please, let me pass."

_Remain humble. If they see you grinning, they'll know it's all a game._

The guards stepped aside. Now all he had to do was ask for directions to the lord's chambers, and then…

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. It was more the tightness of the grip than the gesture itself that angered him.

"What is it now?"

"Our lord has been gone for three days. He is holding conference with one of his close allies."

"Oh." Touzouko suppressed a shudder in favor of feigned confusion. "Then perhaps I should…"

"It's funny..." The man's breath smelt of beer and rancid meat. "…that your master should send a letter at this time. After all, isn't he is the very man our lord is currently meeting with?"

_Game's up. Time to do it the hard way_.

"My, but that's curious..." The Thief dropped the scroll, allowing a hand to slip back beneath his robes.

"Doesn't make much sense, does i…"

The man's words cut off abruptly as a short blade was rammed straight into the junction of his chin and throat. Blood spurted everywhere. His jaw flapped uselessly, eyes wide and vacuous. Touzouko didn't wait to see him die. Instead, he turned to the other guards. Two thrusts later, and another had fallen. He dodged the third man's attack easily and, in a frightening display of physical prowess, whirled around to drive the dagger deep into the base of his skull.

The final guard didn't put up much of a fight. He was young _…too young…_ and unskilled in the art of combat. A flick of the wrist was all it took. The body fell lifeless to the ground, face still afraid and fresh with some barely realized understanding.

_He's better off anyway,_ Touzoukou mused as he wiped the blood from his knife. _That's the worst of the world he'll ever have to see._

The thief didn't linger long, but hastened to enter the palace. By rough calculation, he had an hour at most before the changing of the guards. Only then would the bodies of the sentinels be noticed and the gates closed to prevent his escape. Touzouko may have been unable to learn the whereabouts of the absent lord's chambers, but that didn't mean there wasn't treasure to be had elsewhere in the palace.

There wasn't much in the first corridor, just several servants to be avoided. He hung back in the shadows as they passed, less than the frailest ghost. The next hallway proved more bountiful. There was an interesting mural on part of the wall. Lacking sufficient light, he couldn't make out the picture. However, the jewels encrusted in the artwork's border didn't escape his attention. Touzouko worked them out with the tip of his blade, tossing the gems carelessly into a pouch hidden deep within his robes.

The thief continued like this for some time. He wandered the palace like a haunt, magicking away goblets, candlesticks, bottles of wine, anything and everything of possible value. He didn't waste time examining the things he stole. No, Touzouko wasn't in it for material gain. It was the act itself that drew him.

Rounding another corner, the thief was astonished to find not another spectral corridor, but a sort of miniature paradise. Tucked away in the very heart of the fortress, a garden brimmed with exotic plant life and the intoxicating scent of a million different flowers. There was no roof, and moonlight filtered in through the trees, leaving everything awash in an otherworldly silver. The thief was not immune to this beauty. It was something that could not be stolen, something that escaped him and the limited perspective with which he had learned to view the world. He could find no deception in these moonstruck petals, nothing ugly or dishonest, hypocritical or sardonic. It was just a pretty garden…yet the simplicity of this truth was baffling.

Touzouko knew it was getting late. Any minute now the bodies of the guards would be discovered. If he wasn't gone by then...

Yet there was something about this place, this heaven that lurked in the nightmare of the labyrinth, that he could not abandon. He entered it slowly, almost fearfully. The moonlight dimmed beneath the canopy of leaves. Somewhere on ahead, he could hear the murmur of flowing water. The Thief walked forward. The grass felt cool and fresh against his legs. The branches of the trees reached out, pulled him onward. As with theft, Touzouko was completely seduced.

Abruptly, the trees began to thin. He was in the deepest heart of the garden now, a miniature clearing almost perfect in its roundness. Uninhibited by the cover of plant life, the moon was unmerciful in its brightness. Each leaf, each bloom, each solitary twig and bead of dew was unmasked by this undiscriminating illumination.

However, it was the object at the center of all this that Touzouko found most alluring. It was a great basin, rectangular in shape, sides hewn from stones so white their brilliance rivaled that of the moon. Intricate carvings graced the pool's sides: Egyptian maidens, chariots, lotus blossoms and bloodied spears. They were not painted in the traditional style. Rather, these figures leapt out from the stone around them…creating a lifelike quality that, coupled with their pallor, achieved an effect that was poignantly haunting.

Still with an air of timidity, Touzouko peered over the edge into the depths of the pool. The water was still…so still that his reflection was captured perfectly. Dark skin, pale hair, eyes of a tumultuous gray…betraying a deep exhaustion that stretched well beyond his twenty-two years of life.

The thief exhaled softly, his breath caused a slight dimple to flicker momentarily on the water's surface. _Such flawlessness. It's a pity things like this cannot be…_

A sudden ripple, small but shockingly out of place, shattering his reflection with the abruptness of a snuffed out candle.

Touzouko drew his blade, once more a killer and a bandit. "Who's there?"

The pool's surface lurched again...this time with greater violence. Water sloshed over the sides of the basin, and at the far end a skeletal shadow seemed to be stirring.

The thief cocked his dagger, ready to throw. "There's no use hiding. I know where you are, and if you don't reveal yourself I will not hesitate in ending your life."

A single laugh, humorless and broken. "Then by all means…" The shadow flickered but refused to budge. "…end it."

Touzouko took aim. Despite his unease, his hand was steady. It always was.

…_the hand of a thief… _

* * *

**-TOT** (I hope you liked chapter five. It's a bit longer than the rest, but I did my best not to make it tedious. I was so happy to finally introduce Touzouko! He's one of my favorite characters to write (tricky too, trying to give him his own personality while at the same time bringing in a few aspects of Bakura). As usual, thank you all for the beautiful reviews. They are much appreciated. ) 


	6. Your Name

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 6: **_Your Name_

* * *

"My name?" The blonde was struck by a sudden jolt of apprehension and shock. How did Ryou know? More importantly, why did Malik care? Even now, he wasn't sure of his true motives for giving a false name. It really did seem pointlessly eccentric.

_Maybe…maybe I just…_

"You don't want to tell me, do you?" Ryou reached out hesitantly to touch his face. "It's all you have left and…and it's precious. That bit of yourself you'll always own."

…_precious?_ Yes. Yes, his name was precious. As a slave the blonde had no control. His actions, his words, the very air he breathed…all could be taken away in an instant. _But as long as I have something—anything, even just a name—I will never be completely broken. _

Malik. The name was a shield…a barrier between him and a world that was noxious and diseased. However, the shield worked both ways. With it, he was sheltered from the horror of his existence, but he was also sheltered from the goodness of it…the goodness he saw flickering in the eyes of this strange, pale little boy.

"That's not quite right." Malik smiled, for the first time feeling a genuine fondness for Ryou that was untainted by anger or resent. "It's true that much has been taken from me, but…but I still have a few things left besides my name."

The look on Ryou's face was both empathetic and confused. "Like what?"

"Like my thoughts. My heart. My _life_. I'm alive, Ryou! It's a gift…it's…it's hard…hard sometimes…being the only one left."

"Of your family, you mean?"

Malik flinched. "…y-yes…the rest of them are dead."

Ryou closed his eyes, delicate brows knit in consternation. "I…I'm truly sorry, Namu. I won't bother you about it again. I-I'll just leave you alone now." He turned to go.

"What? No!" It was bizarre. For the first time in months, someone was asking the blonde what _he_ thought, what _he_ desired. If he wanted to, he could send Ryou away…but that was just it. He didn't.

"You can't go yet. I…I haven't heard your story."

"My story?" For a moment Ryou seemed baffled. "…oh! That's right. My story! Where do I be…"

"Wait." The blonde reached out, longing despite himself to caress the face that was so soft and warm. "I haven't told you my name yet."

"But I thought…"

"Malik." For a moment the significance of this confession was terrifying, yet there was a liberation to this terror. It set him free. "My name is Malik Ishtar."

_Being broken isn't so bad. I could even get used to it._

* * *

Ryou didn't know what to say. This revelation had rendered him speechless, uprooted the reality he thought he had known, molding and twisting it into something marvelous…something frightening. He was struck by the absolute knowledge that this could be no coincidence. The name. The name was the key to everything.

"Malik…I see. Things are starting to make a lot more sense."

"What do you mean?" The slave cocked his head, flaxen bangs hanging temptingly in front of his eyes. "I don't understand what's going on."

"It's…listen. Let's go continue this conversation in my quarters. I feel…uncomfortable…out here in the hall."

The blonde nodded and followed Ryou back towards his rooms. The noble watched him out of the corner of his eye. _He's limping. _He felt a flush of remorse. What had happened to Malik was entirely his fault.

"In here."

Ryou's chambers were significantly different from his brother's. Where Akefia's rooms were ill-lit and cluttered, the younger Bakura's were spacious, bright, full of sunlight and furniture in varying shades of blue, silver, and white.

"Please sit." Ushering the blonde onto a pile of overstuffed floor cushions, the boy took his own seat on an adjacent futon. "I'm going to tell you my story. It may sound strange, but…but I think you may be connected to it…on a deeper level than I previously thought."

The blonde didn't reply, and Ryou continued. "My brother, as you already know, is an enemy of the Pharaoh. He often leads raids in Upper Egypt, attempting to keep the government's troops confined to the north. His last major incursion took place almost a year ago. When he came back, Akefia brought with him a slave…a young man caught trying to steal from him in an inn."

"Oh?"

Ryou swallowed. _It's now or never._

"The thing about this slave was…well…he looked like you."

"Like me?" Anger flashed in those brilliant, amethyst eyes. "Is that all I am, then? A stand in for someone else?"

"…essentially, yes." Ryou averted his gaze. There was something dazzling in the other's outrage, something stricken yet unbearably sublime. "But Na…Malik, you must understand! It's not just that you look like him. You're not a cheap imitation! I mean, you _exactly_ like him! Down to the very color of your eyes… It's only in disposition that you're completely different."

"Is that why your brother hates me? Because I remind him of some other toy he has either broken or lost?"

The paler boy blinked feverishly and nodded. _I will not cry again_. "Yes. That's…probably it. I made a mistake, Malik, in bringing you here. I thought it would help Akefia get over it, but instead…I guess I never realized how much my brother truly loved him."

For a long time they sat in silence. The day was fading, and through the window a few stars could be seen twinkling faintly at the pinnacle of the sky. The pales and blues of the room began to blend into one universal color. Soon everything would be drenched in the pearly gray of twilight. This was one of Ryou's favorite times of day. He looked out across Baranis, to the expanse of roaring blackness that was the sea.

"Tell me, Ryou." It seemed Malik had decided to drop the boy's given title indefinitely. "How did this man you speak of come to die?"

The smaller youth closed his eyes, preparing himself. "He isn't dead. Well, at least I don't think he is. It all started the first time Anubis visited our palace. My brother was short on supplies and manpower. By forming an alliance with Anubis, he hoped to better his chances against the Pharaoh. With Anubis' troop numbers and the naval control offered at Baranis, such a union would be more than prudent."

Ryou paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. He didn't like to think about what came next. What his brother had done…he had never been more disgusted with the man in his entire life.

"Anubis is a horrible person. My brother hates him, hates him more than anybody save the Pharaoh…but he is incredibly powerful. Without him, Akefia would never have the means with which to overthrow the monarchy. As it was, when they pledged their alliances, my brother was forced to make an offering of…of goodwill…to gain his trust. He was the one with least to offer, you see…in no position to refuse."

"What kind of offering?" Malik's eyes were staring holes through Ryou's skull. Intense, unrelenting…they were absolutely beautiful. "Was it money? Weapons? Land?"

"N-no. It wasn't. What my brother was forced to give to Anubis, what he _consented_ to give to Anubis, was that youth…the robber turned slave that…that he…"

"…what? Ryou, you said he _loved_ him?"

"He did. He _does._" Ryou's voice was threatening to crack. He had always been a little afraid of the slave Akefia brought back from southern Egypt. The man had been crude, violent, a bit unstable…but he certainly hadn't deserved a fate as wicked as this.

"He does love him. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Just that he loves vengeance more."

Malik's eyes were blazing. It was a look that seemed completely at odds with the frightened boy Ryou had bought at the market in Alexandria. "You claim Akefia loved the man, yet he was willing to sacrifice him in the name of his own interests."

"…yes…"

"And you say Anubis is wicked. A monster that even your brother despises. Correct?"

"…y-yes…"

"I cruel man?"

"…yes…"

"A sadist?"

Ryou fist his hair and moaned. "Don't! Don't _say_ that! It's true, alright? It's all true! And I don't care! I love my brother! He's everything, _everything_ to me, and no matter what, I…I…"

"Shh…" A deep sigh rattling in his chest, Malik reached out and tentatively touched his cheek. There was still fire spitting in his gaze, but for the moment he didn't seem so angry. "I understand, Ryou. _Believe me_, I do understand. It's just…"

Ryou peered up at him through a mess of silver bangs. "I told you before that I believe you have a connection with the other boy that goes beyond physical appearances, remember?"

"Yes, but why?"

"Because of your name." Ryou smiled, but the corners of his lips were trembling.

"W-what do you mean?"

"You're name is Malik." Ryou paused to draw a shaky breath. "His was Mariku."

* * *

Touzouko's blade struck the trunk of a tree barely a hand's width from the unknown figure's face. The man in the shadows didn't even flinch.

_I missed…_ Touzouko took a step back. _I never miss._

"That's a shame." It was as if the anonymous specter had read his mind. "And you looked so skilled…prowling through the garden like that."

"What do you want?"

The figure laughed hoarsely and began making his way across the rectangular basin, water sloshing gently over its marble sides. "That's my line, isn't it?"

Moonlight fell over him, dispelling the shadow. He had sunken cheeks, a sharp chin, exquisitely pronounced cheekbones. The color of the youth's hair was unusually startling. It contrasted starkly with the darkness of his skin, sticking out at alarming angles despite being logged down with water. He was clearly naked, his back bent strangely like that of an old man, but it wasn't this that unnerved Touzouko. It was his eyes, dark and shameless, intelligent and filled with that sort of mordant humor only the suffering can possess.

"Who are you, a thief? Well, obviously." By the looks of him, the blonde was a slave. However, he spoke with the haughtiness of a noble.

"Why bother asking if you're just going to answer your own question?"

A tightlipped, ironic smile. "A bad habit, I admit. You see, I don't usually have anyone else to talk to."

Touzouko continued to study the creature before him. He was thin…thin and painfully battered. His lip was split. His skin, stretched painfully taught over his hips and ribcage, was bruised and littered with sores. Everywhere was the evidence of abuse and neglect. The blonde was young, but it was clear to the thief that his youthful beauty was irretrievably lost.

"You're shivering."

"The water's cold."

"Then why bathe in it?"

Another grin, a flash of unsettling humor. "Even a slave must bathe…though it's kind of fun not to…Master gets so angry."

"Oh." Touzouko was feeling anxious. It was getting late. He had no more time to waste, and speaking with this deranged apparition only served to strengthen his sense of disquiet.

"Don't go just yet." Once again, the slave seemed to have read his thoughts exactly. "You remind me of someone."

"You've never seen me before. I guarantee it."

"Move closer. I can't see you unless you're in that accursed moonlight."

The man reached out and grasped Touzouko by the wrist, pulling him back towards the pool. His grip was cold, his hands thin but unusually large. _Big hands…laborers' hands…he was probably strong once_. This thought sent a chill down the renegade thief's spine. How easily strength could be decimated! Human life was nothing…could be snuffed out as effortlessly as the flame of a candle. He had often been a witness to this…and many times an instigator.

"You've got a lot of nerve for a servant." Wrenching from the frail grasp of the emaciated slave, Touzouko drew back so they were perhaps two inches apart. "Why do you insist on pestering me? Don't you realize how easily I could cut your throat?"

"…of course you could cut my throat. Do you think I don't know that? My body is weak. Yours isn't. I'm not stupid enough to believe I would stand a chance in a fight with you."

"But that doesn't seem to bother you."

The blonde laughed darkly. "No. No, it does not. You see, when you accept the truth of human nature, you realize something. The Gods did not create Heaven and Hell. We did. The folly, the arrogance and hypocrisy of man…knowing such things, I've lost all fear of death."

For the longest time, Touzouko said nothing. Once more, he found himself staring at the youth with unabashed astonishment. What this mere slave had said…it was a statement that went beyond despair. The thief was terrified by this, yet, at the same time, he found it alluring. _There's something about this one…like the garden…that I wish I could steal._

The night's silence was suddenly penetrated by a great commotion coming from the outer courtyard. Shouting, the scuffling of hurried feet…the guards' bodies had been found.

"…shit…_shit!_" The world seemed to lurch before Touzouko's eyes. For the first time in a long time he was starting to panic. There was no way out. He was…he was trapped.

'_All around him, the walls of the hut seemed alive with fire. The child could feel the destruction: acrid smoke, slick muddy earth squelching beneath his feet, the coppery tang of his own blood. He groped blindly for the door, but it was useless. He choked on the fire's fumes and heat, was blinded by its terrible brilliance. His ears were filled with its crackling and the ghosts of distant screams. The boy realized at this moment that he was about to die.'_

Hmm…it seems you've been found out."

The blonde's words dispelled Touzouko's brief slide out of reality. In an instant his mind was clear. _This fortress is huge. There must be another way out!_ He grabbed the other by the arm, hauling him bodily from the pool.

"You're going to help me."

The slave remained on the ground where the thief had thrown him. His lithe form shook pitifully from the cold, but his gaze was unflinchingly steady. "What will you do if I refuse?"

"Idiot, I'll kill you!"

"Kill me?" He smiled and clucked his tongue. "Tsk…tsk…you know _that _won't do any good."

A sinking sensation churned in Touzouko's gut. _He isn't lying. He really has no fear of death! _The exclamations of the guards were now very close.

"I heard voices!"

"Where? In the garden?"

"Yes."

"Why? There's nothing valuable to be found in there."

"HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S RUNNING THROUGH THE BASTARD'S HEAD?! NOW GET IN THERE AND FIND HIM!"

Withdrawing another, longer blade from the depths of his robes, Touzouko turned from the clearing to face the towering wall of foliage from whence the voices came. He was a thief, a villain and a disturber of the peace…but he was also a man. He refused to die from an arrow in his back.

"What are you doing?" The slave cocked his head in wonder. "Forgive me, but you don't seem the type to discard your life so easily."

"I have no means of escape, but if I must die then I will do so under circumstances of my own choosing." The thief exhaled shakily. He had just seen the shadow of a guard flitting through the trees. "Not that I expect someone like you to understand. Unlike you, I do fear death…but you fear living, and in a way that's even more pathetic!"

The blonde clambered clumsily to his feet. "You're wrong. I do not _fear_ living. Rather, I hate it. Between those words lies a world of difference."

"Just leave me alone. You're becoming a nuisance."

The slave merely smirked and moved closer, grabbing him by the wrist.

"I thought I told you to…"

But Touzouko's anger melted into wonderment as he glimpsed the other's expression. Eyes half lidded, mouth red from the split in his lower lip…there was something fascinating about this glaring wreck of humanity, something almost glamorous. When he spoke, the slave's tone was deep…seductive.

"Why does it matter whether or not you die honorably? The end result will be the same, won't it?"

"Perhaps, but I'd rather meet the gods as an equal than as a reluctant coward."

The other frowned, and for a second Touzouko thought he glimpsed a tumultuous flicker in those deep, amethyst orbs. The slave hunched his shoulders almost defensively. For the first time the thief noticed the scars, too broad to be whip marks, crisscrossing from the nape of his neck all the way to his lower back.

"Where did you…" But the blonde was already speaking.

"Don't be stupid. The gods don't care about your death. The gods don't even exist! Now stop waving that fucking sword around, and follow me. I will show you to the other exit."

* * *

Akefia lay on his bed, eyes directed unseeing toward the stone ceiling. Anubis had only just left. The memory of their conversation was unforgiving in its potency. He felt as if he might throw up.

'…_completely unrecognizable…'_

Had Anubis really done it? Had he really been able to break Mariku's spirit? _No. I refuse to believe it. _Mariku was strong…beyond strong. Akefia had known this from the moment he saw the scars. He himself had tried to break him, and in the end…

…_in the end, I never could. Because he was already broken, broken and remade as something else…something untouchable._

Akefia Bakura closed his eyes. He remembered that day perfectly.

* * *

"_So, you're the one who stole from me and killed my soldiers."_

_The man at Bakura's feet did not reply. He was in no condition to. He had just been dragged, injured, for hours through the desert. It was a wonder he wasn't dead already._

"_You stole a blade from me…"_

"_We have it right here, My Lord." One of the bandit's captors stumbled forward. "We found it hidden in his cloak."_

_The Lord of Baranis accepted the dagger with a nod and turned back to his prisoner. The man was barely conscious. However, this wasn't surprising considering how much blood he'd lost. The clothes he wore were positively drenched in it._

"_What's your name, robber?"_

_With great effort, the blonde looked up and threw him a taunting smirk. Even in this condition he betrayed no signs of being intimidated. "…my…my name…" A fit of coughing followed, leaving gritty flecks of blood on the young man's teeth. "…I am…Mariku Ishtar…who the fuck are you?"_

_Bakura lifted his foot and brought it down on the back of his head without hesitation. The blonde grunted in pain and, bonds restraining his arms and legs, fell face first into the dirt. He did not look up this time but remained there, chest heaving._

"_Leave us. I wish to speak with him alone." The lord waved his hand dismissively at the other guards. They left his tent reluctantly, disappointed that they would not be granted witness to the retribution to come._

"_Now…" He grabbed the blonde by the neck and jerked him to his feet. "What did you think you were doing, stealing from a lord like me?"_

_The man named Mariku could barely reply, so parched was his throat from dehydration. "…idiot…why does…anyone steal?"_

_Bakura choked down his anger, favoring a cutting remark instead. "Why, they steal because they're lazy, little Marik. Because all they care about is making an easy profit."_

"_Hmm…" The blonde's features were graced once more by that sharp and daunting smirk. "Then rebel lords like you must be the greatest thieves of all, no? Pillaging farms and peasant villages like vultures to a carcass."_

"…_fool…" Bringing the Damascus blade up in a great arc, Bakura slit the robes of the unfortunate man. The cloth fell away effortlessly beneath the dagger's point, revealing a muscular torso and arms. There was a shallow wound spanning the width of his chest, but the majority of blood loss seemed to have come from a deeper gash on the back of his thigh. It was oozing something foul-smelling and pussy, the skin at its edges bruised a greenish puce._

"_You'd better get treatment for that soon, little Marik. You wouldn't want to lose your leg." _

_Akefia smiled as, for the first time, something akin to fear flashed across the reckless thief's features. He looked much better this way, the lord decided. Eyes all feverish and bright with desperation. The bastard was actually rather pleasant to look at so long as he didn't open that ugly mouth of his. A nefarious laugh reverberated in the back of the lord's throat. Mariku was clearly a man of great pride. To take that away from him; this would be Bakura's vengeance._

"_Don't worry." The man grabbed the darker's face, dragging his tongue heavily along the contour of his jaw. "I won't cut it off…that is unless you misbehave."_

_The blonde jerked away, lips curled into an almost animalistic snarl. "…who the hell…do you think you are?"_

"_Me?" The cruel laugh still bubbling in his throat burst forth in a sudden and distasteful peel. "I am Akefia Bakura, lord of Baranis, but you, little Marik, may call me Master."_

* * *

_If I had known then what would become of it, I would have left him in the sand to die._

This thought may have seemed callous if not for the total lack of conviction behind it. The truth was it was Bakura who had been enslaved, Bakura who had been broken and humiliated past the extent of his endurance. He had fallen for the blonde, fallen hard and permanently. When Anubis had first demanded ownership of Marik, the lord had thought, _my family's retribution will not be jeopardized by my affections for a slave! _However, he had severely underestimated just how deep his affections ran.

_After this is over, I will kill Anubis, and if Mariku is still alive…then he will kill me in turn. _Like himself, the blonde was a creature of vengeance. He would no more hesitate to end his life than Akefia had when selling his.

"YOU BASTARD!"

Jerked from his thoughts, Bakura swung his head around wildly to locate the source of disturbance. _That voice…just for a moment…_

No…it wasn't him. It _couldn't _be! It was Namu, the slave…the imposter…

The lord jumped menacingly to his feet. "What is the meaning of this, boy?"

"Monster…" The boy's eyes were piercing, his hair wild and his cheeks flushed from running. Gone was the frightened child Bakura had taken advantage of the previous night.

"Idiot, don't you realize what I could…"

"Shut _up!" _Groping blindly at the surface of the nearby desk, Namu's fingers fell across the handle of a knife buried deep beneath the papers. "I'll kill you." He brandished the blade in his direction. "I'LL SLIT YOUR FUCKING…"

For a moment Bakura stood, transfixed. The knife…forgotten…no…left _to be_ forgotten beneath a stack of Anubis' letters. The steal glimmered hungrily. Once, it had been his favorite blade.

It was strange, but Namu, too, seemed to be mesmerized by the weapon's cold elegance. His eyes—_Mariku's eyes_—were so full of emotion. Rage…rage and something more primal…the glint of a wounded animal, struck dumb with grief.

In this instant Bakura knew. Everything, Namu's physical appearance, even the tattoo on his back, could be written off as coincidence. Everything but this. The slave boy's gaze was composed of something deeper, the vestiges of a love so strong it threatened to consume him.

"You…you knew him."

The blonde smiled, but his grip on the blade was still very tight. "Yes. He is my brother."

* * *

**-TOT** (I couldn't resist. Me write a story without Marik? As if! Anyway, that was Enchantment's main (and probably very predictable) twist. I hope you'll stay tuned, though. There's more excitement to come!)

PLEASE REVIEW!


	7. One For One

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 7: **_One for One_

* * *

For a moment Bakura was mute with shock. _…brother… _The word soaked into his consciousness. Like a parasite it contaminated every hall, every corridor and minute crawlspace of his mind. His ears were ringing with it. For a second he was afraid his heart would stop beating. How did he know about Mariku being here at all? _Ryou. That stupid…_

"He was your brother?"

The silence held more certainty than any confirmation the slave could ever utter. In a way Akefia had always known it was true. It went beyond physical likeness. It was a feeling—a knowledge lodged deep in his gut—that this slave, this…_Namu_…was something altogether significant.

"You…knew him then, as a child?"

That sneer, so cold…so exactly like Marik's…

"Knew him? Of course I fucking knew him!" The boy's eyes blazed. His grip on the knife tightened, knuckles blossoming white beneath the pressure. The resemblance was so strong that for an instant Bakura was tempted to ravish him completely. However, he refrained.

…_what was he like as a child…does he have any other siblings…who taught him to read…what was his life like before he became a bandit…_There were so many questions he had wanted to ask…so many questions Mariku had always refused to answer. Now was the lord's chance. He asked the one question that had always bothered him, that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

"How did he get those scars?"

The loathing in Namu's eyes dimmed abruptly, giving way to something even more brutal. A look of abject horror spread across his face. It remained untarnished by time and distance, a memory that overtook the present, a sensation so real it bordered tactile.

"Do you really want to know?" Eyes hidden by a shock of golden hair, Namu's words came out a sort of baritone growl. "Well, _Master?_ Do you think you can handle it?"

Bakura snorted. "Handle it? Of course I can fucking handle it!"

The blonde did not reply immediately. Instead, he looked as if he were concentrating, bringing forth something horrible and spectral, something that he normally would try only to forget…but such phantoms could never be forgotten. Out of sight but rarely out of mind, they continued to fester until the wound split open, infected, contaminating the unmarred flesh around it so that everything was diseased. Bakura shuddered. Maybe the boy was right. Maybe he _didn'_t want to know where Marik got those scars. Maybe he couldn't handle…

"I was young at the time." Namu spoke calmly, but his hand never once loosened its grip on the blade. "Marik had just turned ten. I-I didn't know what was going on at first. I…"

* * *

"_Isis…Isis!" A nine year-old Malik scuttled down the halls of the underground temple, catching the hem of his sister's tunic just as she was about to turn the corner. She greeted him with a smile, but there was something anxious in the upward quiver of her lips._

"_How are you this morning, little brother?"_

"_Fine, thank you…um…Isis?"_

_The woman gulped. "Yes?" _

"Where's Mariku? He wasn't in bed when I woke up." 

"_I…I'm afraid our brother will be gone for a few days. He left with Father this morning. He…"_

"_But where did they go?" Malik frowned, the nearly infallible intuition of childhood glimmering in his gaze. "Why did Father keep it a secret?"_

"_It's not a secret. It's just…today is Marik's tenth birthday. You know that, I'm sure."_

"_Yes, I…oh. You mean the ceremony."_

_Isis nodded and buried her face in Malik's hair. "They will return from the Tablet chambers three days from now. At that time I must ask that you do not disturb him. Mariku will…he will not be well for some time."_

"…_it's not fair."_

_The woman frowned and cocked her head to one side. "What do you mean?"_

"_I mean it's not fair! The ceremony…why should Marik have to stay down here when everyone else can spend their whole lives in the sun if they want to?"_

"_That may be, but in Heaven the gods will favor such a sacrifice above all others. Mariku will truly be beloved by Ra."_

"_Do you really believe that?"_

"_I…" She could not meet the innocence of his gaze, the complete lack of assumption. The question was not contemptuous. It was honest…and infinitely more painful. "…I want to…but sometimes it's difficult…to believe, I mean."_

"_I wish Marik would believe. Then maybe he wouldn't be so angry all the time."_

"_Yes." Isis ran her fingers absently through the boy's hair. "When informed this morning of his duties, our brother was…less…than pleased."_

_Malik nodded, a mature gesture rendered ridiculous by his youth. "If…if it was me…I wouldn't be happy either. I think I would run away."_

"_G-GET AWAY FROM ME!"_

_The pattering of feet—sometimes loud, sometimes soft—fluctuating with the bizarre acoustics of the underground labyrinth. Then there was shouting, the flickering of torches, the deep bass rumble of their father's voice. Malik covered his ears. Unlike most children, he was used to quiet. Silence befitted the crypt._

"_I won't! You bastards! I WON'T!"_

_Mariku's voice, usually devoid of the light, soprano quality normally associated with youth, sounded strange in Malik's ears. It was tinny, high-pitched, afraid. This caught the blond boy off guard. He expected his brother to be angry, hurt even…but afraid?_

"_Malik! What are you…"_

_He was running, running as fast as he could down the halls. He ignored his sister's outcry and forced his legs to move faster. He didn't know where he was going. In the temple noises could not be followed. They came in from all directions, echoing a thousand times over through deserted, windowless corridors. In searching for his brother, Malik was essentially groping blindly. He didn't call out Marik's name. This would only add more cacophony to the already chaos-filled passages. He simply kept running, praying dumbly that he wouldn't run into Father or one of the lesser tombkeepers._

"_Malik!"_

_The boy skidded to a halt. There it was, a sulfurous whisper. Too low to be affected by echoes and too cutting to be anywhere but right under is nose. Malik's head swiveled, searching desperately for the source of the noise. _

"_Marik, is that…"_

"_In here!"_

_The boy was hiding in a storage closet. He had tucked himself away neatly, wedged between a broken-legged chair and a shelf littered with crumpled bits of parchment. Scrambling over chipped vases and furniture that had long fallen into disuse, Malik knelt before his older sibling._

"_A-are you alright? Why did you run away?"_

"_I won't." The boy's eyes were wide, almost to the point of absurdity. "I won't be like him!"_

"_Don't say that! Isis says …"_

"_She's wrong! Whatever she tells you, Malik, it isn't true! It can't be!" _

"_But what else can you do? There's no way out."_

_Mariku's body jerked horribly. For a moment he was overcome, overcome with something crueler, something so crushing and hopeless it rendered him physically ill. His body was at the mercy of these convulsions. Spit dribbled down the corner of his lips. He began to vomit, bile spilling from his mouth in short, erratic bursts._

_Malik was horrified. Mariku…Mariku was not this weak. He was tough, tougher than people three times his age. He didn't tremble. He didn't throw up. He…he was just a child. Barely older than Malik. This wasn't weakness. It was human._

"_Are you alright? B-brother, are you hurt?"  
_

"_N-no!" The wilder haired blonde gasped, attempting to scoot farther away from his younger sibling. He wound his arms tightly around his knees, burying his face between his chest and thighs. "I-I don't need you! Leave me alone…"_

_That's when he saw it—the blood running down Mariku's back. It swept in two great swaths across his shoulderblades. _The wings_, Malik realized. _The wings that are part of the tombkeeper's insignia. _So that's what it looked like, to be branded by a hot knife. There was more blood than he would have expected. The boy reached out impulsively, laying a hand on his brother's cheek._

"_I'm sorry…that you're hurt."_

"_Don't…" Mariku jerked away from him. "I-it's not that…not…not…" _

He knew what his brother was trying to say. It wasn't the agony tearing through his back that made Mariku gag. For a child, he possessed a startlingly high tolerance for pain. Rather, it was the idea that came with that agony. A lifetime trapped underground, pointless rituals no one would see, prayers from a forgotten era, left to decay by those who walked in sunlight…alone…hopeless… 

"_He's wrong if he thinks he can force me!" Mariku wrung his hands feverishly, bitter, violet pupils glinting in the torchlight. "He's dead wrong."  
_

"_But what can you do? Neither of us knows the way out of here!"_

"_I don't care! I'll think of something! I'd rather…"_

_The older boy's words died fearfully on his lips. His face paled. "Brother?" Malik was confused for a moment, then he felt a shadow pass over the back of his neck._

"_You'd rather what, Mariku?"_

_The elder Ishtar was an imposing figure. Nearly six feet tall, he towered over his sons. They trembled in fear not just of his strength and quick temper, but of his resignation as well. The man had an aura of accepted fanaticism. His zealous nature was one born out of necessity…the desperate need to justify his self-imprisonment._

"_Father…Father, plea…"_

"_Silence, Malik." The man didn't deign to look upon his younger child—second born, second rate. His glare was all for Marik, who's quivering did not dint the determined stillness of his gaze. _

"_I won't." The words were biting, clipped, ferociously apathetic in every way. There was a fervor behind the boy's coldness…calm as a bird is calm when locked inside a cage. "You'll have to tie me down again. Y-you'll have to kill me!"_

_At this, there father's face seemed to split with rage. He became taller somehow, darker and more terrible. The man loomed over them like a ghost, but he was no ghost. He was real, palpable. Still, when he lurched forward to grab Mariku by the arms, Malik caught a brief whiff of the grave._

"_Ungrateful brat!" The elder Ishtar shook him ruthlessly, paying no mind to the boy's bloodied shoulders. "Do you think you are the only Ishtar to ever feel this pain? Do you dare dishonor those who have suffered before you?"_

"…_they were weak…"_

"_What?" Mariku was slammed up against the wall. He cried out in pain, burnt skin grating against unforgiving sandstone. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"_

"_THEY WERE WEAK!" The boy's voice did not crack. Instead, it was forceful, contemptuous. Defiance resonated from every fiber of his being. Angry…intoxicating…it lent power to his small, childish frame in a way no muscles ever could. "Do you think any of them wanted it…did _you_ want it? No! The only reason they went through with the ceremony was fear. They were afraid to face the outside world! To throw out tradition and create their own way of living! They were cowards…"_

"_Cowards?! They devote their lives to the honor of the gods, and you call them cowards?"_

_Mariku's breathing sounded heavy in the stillness that ensued. "I do."_

"_Our sacrifices will be rewarded by the gods in Heaven. Can you not understand this?"_

"_Prove it." There was something new in the young boy's voice. A timbre both dark and desperate. "Prove that they will reward us! PROVE THAT THE GODS EVEN EXIST!"_

_For a moment the elder Ishtar didn't answer. Then a terrific groan rose in his chest, something between a choke and a snarl. "INSOLENT CHILD!" He shook Marik so that his head cracked sharply against the back wall. "YOU ARE NOT EVEN WORTHY OF CARRYING THE ISHTAR NAME!"_

"_THEN TAKE IT!" The boy's apathy began to shatter, breaking down into something disjointed…childlike, even. "I-I don't want it…I never have…hate you…hate you so much...I don't want to…"_

_The man's hands fell lax, allowing Mariku to fall limply to the floor. His limbs seemed to collapse around him, his small frame losing both stability and malice. Malik wanted to reach out, to touch him…if not in comfort then for the reassurance of his tangibility._

"_Is that your decision, then?" There was a weight to their father's words. Heavy, almost labored, it had less to do with tradition and ritual than one might think. "To forsake the name of Ishtar. To turn your back on what is both your duty and your privilege. Is that your choice?" _

_Marik didn't need to reply. His gaze spoke volumes._

_A sigh rattled in the man's throat. It was as if he were preparing himself…or letting go of something he had only just realized to exist. "Very well. I will honor your request. You will be allowed to leave this place and Malik will take your place as heir, but first the mark of Ishtar must be erased."_

* * *

_For a long time there were screams. Deep and wracking, rising in pitch until Malik thought his ears would never stop ringing. He couldn't escape them, his brother's cries. They echoed unmercifully, bouncing off every wall. Mariku sounded as if he were dying. Slowly…painfully…what remained of his innocence leaked out with those screams. In the end they didn't sound like screams at all…just detached, inhuman howling._

_Isis held Malik tightly as this happened, ensuring that he would not attempt to follow the desperate keen of his brother's voice. She would make sure he, at least, held on to it…that last vestige of childhood. She didn't try to say it would be alright. She knew it wouldn't. All the woman could do was clutch frantically at her youngest sibling, muffling her sobs in his sandy-colored hair._

_After a long while, Mariku's cries did cease, but the silence that followed was even worse. There was a finality about it; nothing could be the same…not after this. _

_Footsteps. Slow, measured and mournful—Rishid._

_The Ishtar servant appeared at the end of the hall. He was carrying something—a bundle—but at this distance Malik couldn't quite make it out. Wriggling from his sister's insistent embrace, he ran out to meet him._

"_Rishid! Rishid, where's…"_

"_Shh…" The man put a finger to his lips, eyes cast towards the mess of blankets in his arms. "Where is Isis?"_

"_I'm here." Slightly breathless, Isis materialized beside them. She took one look at Rishid and paled. "Oh God…is he…"_

"_Miss Isis, please stay calm. Master Marik requires medical attention."_

_Realization hit Malik like the brunt of a sandstorm. That…thing…in Rishid's arms…something pinkish was seeping through the cloth. Tufts of blond hair poked out through the folds, and it was…it was quivering._

"_Marik! Marik, is that you?"_

_The boy tried to move forward, only to be jerked back by his sister. He wailed, beating at her with his small fists, but Isis held on with grim determination. "No, Malik!" She gave him a forceful shake. "You can see him later…when he's cleaned up."_

"_But I...sister, why are you crying?"_

_Isis shook her head, trying to ignore the tears that trembled on her lashes. "Please, little brother…for me. Wait awhile. You can't…I don't want you to see him like this."_

* * *

The silence that followed was perhaps the most terrible thing Ryou had ever experienced. He stood at the brink of the bedroom, hands gripping the doorframe for support. They hadn't noticed him yet. Malik was staring bitterly at the Damascus blade in his hand. Bakura gazed at the window, completely unseeing.

Ryou was struck by the absurdity of all of this. What were the chances? That Mariku had a brother, that said brother would one day too be their slave. It was reminiscent of a Greek drama.

"Hey, Bakura." Malik's voice was coarse. Tears glittered in his eyes, but his was a grief overcome by malice. "Have you ever seen an animal after it's been flayed?"

Helplessly—as if by another being's volition—Bakura's body jerked violently to face the slave. His mouth twitched, a spasm brought on by some hellish realization. Ryou felt bile rising in his throat. _Akefia's going to kill him._

But Bakura did not kill Malik. Instead he stood there, staring past them, at something miles and miles away.

"B-brother, are you…"

Akefia's head reacted to his voice. His neck swiveled, but he hadn't heard anything. There was a blankness to his eyes. Not the careful, deliberate blankness he usually wore over his emotions, but true, hollow emptiness. Beyond desperation, beyond even sorrow, it was the gaze of a corpse.

"Brother, please…"

He began to walk, past the window, past Malik, hand still clenched around the devious little blade. He brushed against Ryou's shoulder as he exited into the darkness of the other room. The boy recoiled as if touched by death.

Long after his brother's steps had faded, Ryou continued to stand in the doorway. His mouth tasted bitter. Something cold and hard seemed to have worked its way into his stomach.

_Malik_.

The blonde was still standing in the middle of the bedroom. His body did not shake. However, it was unbelievably tense. When Ryou reached out to touch him, he turned pointedly away.

"…leave me alone…"

The white-haired noble shook his head. "I can't. You…you shouldn't…"

"Aren't you angry?" Malik turned on him, but his voice came off weak…exhausted. "Aren't you angry about what I said to your brother?"

"...yes, a little…but he deserved it. We both know that."

"You know, Ryou…" The slave moved closer, this time allowing his arm to be touched without complaint. "When I first met you, well…let's just say you're more complicated than I thought."

The boy smiled. "I get that a lot."

"You're smarter too."

Ryou did not reply. Instead, he pulled the other into a gentle hug. They stayed like this for a long time. Gradually, the stiffness began to leave Malik's body. His shoulders slumped. His face fell easily against the crook of the shorter boy's neck. Ryou could feel the deep rhythm of his breathing, the delicate indent of the tattoo that crossed his back. He liked the smell of Malik's hair. It was sweaty, a mix of salt and body heat that he found bizarrely exhilarating.

"Malik?"

He buried his face deeper into Ryou's shoulder, pretending he hadn't heard.

"Malik, are…are you…"

A strangled sob tore itself from the blonde's throat. He clenched tightly at the paler's shoulders, nails threatening to draw blood. In this moment Ryou realized something. Malik looked like Marik. Malik sometimes acted like Marik. But Malik was _not_ Marik. Marik did not cry. Marik did not show weakness. Even when he was given over to Anubis, his eyes had glimmered with defiance more so than injury.

No, Malik was not like him, and Ryou certainly didn't mind. He liked that the boy could cry. He liked that he was sensitive, that he could show his emotions without…without disguising them as something else. That's what Mariku always did. He was the master of double meanings.

When Malik's legs gave out, Ryou went down with him. He knelt beside the boy, stroking his hair as tears continued tumbling unchecked down his cheeks. _Did Bakura ever hold Marik like this_? He wondered. _No, that's not likely._

* * *

_Running, running down corridors so black even the sight of a thief was fallible. He was following a shadow, a phantasm that had been born unexpectedly from the surrounding darkness. But this mirage was his only hope. It knew the way out._

_The air was hot. At first he blamed adrenaline, but in actuality they were nearing the kitchens. Fires blazed. Mixed with the flavor of his fear, the roasting meat smelled sickening. No servants—they were all out looking for the thief. He studied his savior as they flitted through. Even now, the blonde's eyes lingered hungrily on the abandoned food, but he did not touch. No…no, he never touched._

_There was a tunnel. Behind the biggest of the ovens, a shaft for garbage. It smelled of rot, of freedom, of holding on just one more day. Narrow and dark. He combated claustrophobia with years of experience spent crawling through tombs. Up ahead, his guide was wheezing. Something about the noise wasn't right…a broken rattle deep within his chest. _

_Finally. Outside. No time to rejoice. There were bells, horrible, noisy, screaming bells, alerting the oasis, tolling out treacherous stories of thievery and death. Running, running faster than he ever thought possible. Past ghostly, mud-brick houses, down side streets thick with sludge and garbage. _

_Then they were out. The moon was bright, the desert sands rolling out in a constant bid to outpace the stars. They stared at each other for a moment. The blonde began to cough, violently, deep and wracking. Unfit for the mad dash through the city, his body shook. Falling. The fool had passed out!_

_An unconscious body lying in the dirt. The thief should have left well enough alone. He should have just got on his horse and… _

* * *

And that's how Touzouko had ended up here, hidden beneath a rocky outcropping, an unconscious blonde his only companion. He still didn't understand it. Why hadn't he left him for dead? He was already one foot in the grave. Skinny…battered…there wasn't much left _too_ kill.

Besides, it was as the slave said. He held no fear of death.

After last night's furious activity, the morning stillness seemed abnormally surreal. Somewhere nearby he could hear his horse grazing, but besides that there was only the wind. A breeze just strong enough to shift a little sand.

The thief stared at the too-still figure huddled near the adjacent wall of the shelter. The night's exertions had sent the blonde's body over the edge. Months of strain were forced to the surface, leaving him feverish and pale. He absolutely did not move. The only sign of life was his shallow breathing, occasionally interrupted by an ill-boding hitch in the throat. Touzouko had seen sickness like this before. He probably wouldn't last much longer.

He peered out into the slowly lightening sky. Soon, the sun would be clear of the horizon, and they would have to move on. Searchers from the oasis would be looking for them, and the thief was keen to return to his hideout. Another journey, even on horseback, would not prove beneficial for his new companion's health. However, it couldn't be helped. Touzouko had his own wellbeing to look after.

A soft rustling caught the thief's attention. _He's moving… _It seemed the blond bone-bag had more resilience than he'd previously thought. With a light cough, he opened his eyes. The pupils were clear. _Not even delirious._

"I didn't expect you up so soon."

A slight twitch of the lips. "…yeah…early riser…and all that…where are we?"

Touzouko shrugged. "Just a temporary resting point. We're leaving at dawn."

"Hmm…" The blonde gave him a lean, hard look. "Tell me, mister…eh…what was it?"

"Touzouko."

"…right…Touzouko…tell me, why the fuck did you drag me all the way out here? I had you pegged as a pretty smart person and…well…that wasn't very smart of you…pretty damn stupid, actually."

Touzouko felt a shiver. This was no run of the mill pleasure slave. He was sharp as hell, and, quite frankly, it unnerved him. "Why'd I drag you here?" The thief hoped his smirk was more confident than he was. "I owe you, and being in someone else's debt doesn't sit well with me."

"I see." A weird spark flared at the back of the blonde's purplish gaze. "Well I suppose the one for one philosophy's the best we can hope for in such a heartless world as this."

The thief frowned. Perhaps the blonde wasn't really as lucid as he seemed. His eyes were almost too clear, actually. There was a madness to them that didn't quite sit right.

"It's your turn to tell me something."

"Hnn…" The other's grin widened, a thin slash on his face both mocking and strangely seductive.

"What's your name?"

"Mariku Ishtar." The blonde seemed strangely excited by this question. "You know, you really do remind me of someone!"

Touzouko arched an eyebrow. "Who? A friend?"

Mariku tried to stretch but grimaced as his spine gave a splitting crack. "A friend…why yes…you could say that he's a friend of mine."

"Where is he now?"

The blonde's smile vanished. At once his features lost their disoriented joviality. They became calculating, sharp and ruthless so that the thief could barely stand to look at them. This new madness was infinitely more terrifying than the one that came before. Mariku was no longer a broken man laughing at his own destruction. That sordid humor had left him. The person Touzouko saw now was much more twisted.

"Where is he now?" The blonde bit back a laugh with a vicious upturn of his lip. "I don't know, _exactly_. That is to say, I have a good idea of where he is, but…what does it matter? I'll kill him eventually."

* * *

**-TOT** (The rewrite is finally done! I'm sorry it took so long. I was a bit lacking in motivation. However, I actually feel that some parts of this chapter are better than the original, but there are also parts I'm not completely happy with. I'll be happy to know what you think of it.)

PLEASE REVIEW!


	8. Nothing Left

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 8: Nothing Left**

From his perch at the crest of the sand dune, Mahaado could see all of both his own army and that of the Pharaoh. He could even make out the well-known, petite stature of the Pharaoh's general, Atemu. However, Mahaado's thoughts were not currently resting on the opposing general. He was more preoccupied with perils on his own side.

The three hundred soldiers sent with them by Anubis had proven nothing but quarrelsome from the start. They were not bad men necessarily, but they were ill-trained and so terrified of their lord that getting them to do anything not approved by him directly was nearly impossible.

Lord Bakura was not exaggerating when he spoke of the sway Anubis held over his subjects. The lack of the tyrant's physical presence did little to dim the influence of his character. He was a man of abject cruelty, and it showed through the behavior of his troops.

There was a time when Mahaado would have thought the same of Bakura. When he had first met him—_nearly five years ago by now_—he had seen only another rich upstart out to reclaim what shouldn't have been his in the first place. However, Bakura wasn't your typical bastardized noble. There was something about him that inspired people. That was why Mahaado had joined him in the first place. 

'"_I will be damned if I allow the glorious nation of Egypt to be ruled by a half-wit Macedonian!"'_

He remembered how Bakura had laughed when he said this. Mahaado knew Bakura cared nothing for Egypt. He was in it purely for revenge, but however different their motives may have been, the two men shared a common goal—to overthrow the corrupt regime of Alexandria.

To this day he still didn't know what to think of Akefia Bakura. He was a good leader. His men loved him in a way Anubis' never could. People were drawn in by his bravery as surely as they were repelled by his cynicism. Had he been on the battlefield at that moment, Bakura would have fought happily at the ex-general's side…mocking him every step of the way.

Once a major figure in the Pharaoh's army, Mahaado had abandoned his military duties out of disgust for the government's fraudulence. If being an upright man meant living the life of a rebel, he was more than willing to do so. It had cost him everything he knew, his friendships, his way of life, even his family, but this was the only course left to him.

_A great deed remains great regardless of the methods by which it is purchased._

These were the words Mahaado lived by. Fighting on the side of men he would rather have slain, clashing spears with those who had once been his friends…it was Hell for him, but Mahaado was an idealist. He dreamt of Egypt as it once had been…as it could be again…an empire overseen by a capable and benevolent ruler, a true God King who prized the welfare of his people over the gold that lined his pockets.

This was the vision that gave Mahaado purpose, and even if this purpose was foolhardy, he would go on believing in it. He had no choice. It was all he had to live for.

* * *

_Damn it, Atemu! Where are you? _From his perch at the palace balcony, Priest Seth gazed moodily at the plain of destruction that now surrounded the ancient city of Abydos. His efforts to repel the insurgents had left barely a scratch in their ranks. He knew who was behind this. _The 'Rebel King,' Anubis, and that upstart Grecian from Baranis._

Seth considered himself a fairly independent person. He didn't like asking for help. He didn't like asking for anything, but he had fewer than two hundred warriors at Abydos and a whole community of Egyptian citizens to look after. The rebels numbered at least a thousand, and they clearly had no reservations when it came to killing civilians. 

_Which is why I sent a request for reinforcements to Alexandria. We won't last much longer without them._ He could not ignore this. Terrified though he was to admit it, the priest knew that time was limited. If Atemu didn't arrive as he had promised, Abydos would fall and its people ruthelessly slaughtered. Seth was growing desperate. Supplies were running low. _Running low? Hell, the people are practically starving!_ He was supposed to be a leader, both spiritually and politically, but what could he do? He wasn't a god! He couldn't clap his hands and make food appear! He couldn't conjure up an army by waving his cloak!

"There's nothing…nothing left for me…"

"…eh? Did you say something, boss?"

The brunette rolled his eyes. " _Master_, Jounouchi. How many times to do I have to tell you? Address me as _Master_."

"S-sorry…Master." The blond servant shrugged sheepishly. He was a new addition to the temple staff, one Seth normally found unbearably irritating. However, his mind was occupied with more pressing matters at the moment. He didn't have time for…

"Doesn't look like that Atemu person is showing up, does it?" 

With an audacity not fit for his position, the slave moved out to stand by Seth on the balcony. _He reminds me of a dog,_ the priest thought. _A disobedient, stupid dog. Doesn't he understand what will happen if Abydos is breached?_

"No," he replied flatly. "It doesn't. Now leave me and go about your duties. There must be something you can do besides pestering your superiors."

"Forgive me then, Master. Sometimes I forget my place" Jounouchi backed away, gaze lowered…though a good deal shy of subservient.

Even after he had left, Seth continued to stare out across the expanse of his city to the fires of the enemy flickering at the edge of the horizon. _What a stupid boy he is. I should have been harsher on him._ A beating. That would cure the blonde of such idiocies. However, at the moment the priest had little taste for violence. He was surrounded by war. He'd had enough of it.

_If that mutt wants to be obnoxious, then let him. Chances are we'll all be dead soon, anyway._

* * *

For the first time in what had literally been months, Mariku Ishtar woke up warm. Not the kind of warmth brought on by illness, but a healthy, comfortable heat. He was wrapped in something. It was slightly itchy. _A blanket? A cloak? _Either way, he was glad for it. Anubis never allowed the luxury of clothing.

"You're up again."

For a moment the blonde's mind refused to process that voice. He was jerked back violently, back to a time when he lived by the sea, when he didn't have to go around naked and he…

_No! Do not think of that!_

The blonde's eyes opened with a snap. Immediately he was assaulted by a spew of colors—rich crimson, green, silver and gold. The hues seemed to taunt him, lunging forward, falling back, then shooting up to dance somewhere above his head. Mariku began to grow dizzy.

"You were out for a long time. To be honest, I'm surprised you woke up."

Things were coming back now. Events, images…the escape…had that really happened? Was he…

_It's an illusion. I'm hungry and tired and crazy and all of this is in my head. _

But it wasn't in his head. It couldn't be. This thief, Touzouko…he was too vivid. Mariku could remember everything about him—his muscular body, his gray eyes, the scar running down his cheek and his deep, grating voice.

_And his hair. Wild, tangled, moon-white hair. _

"Where…" Marik swallowed and blinked his eyes…trying to clear his throat, to focus his pupils on the shifting bits of color. 

"A hut in a ruined village. They won't find us here."

Slowly the blonde's vision cleared, and he could begin to make out the contours of his companion's face. The thief wasn't unpleasant to look at. He had a strong jaw—slightly stubbly—and an elegant, narrow-lipped mouth. The scar on his face wasn't ugly, necesarilly, but it lent something…character. 

"…won't find us…how the fuck do you know that…"

Touzouko grinned—_white teeth…straight teeth_—and shook his head a little. "The soldiers think this place is haunted. They're too afraid to enter and make the mistake of thinking everyone else is too."

Mariku was only half listening. In truth, he had become distracted by the other's eyes. They were unremarkable in color, but they were still interesting. His gaze betrayed the strain of his lifestyle. For living so violently, the thief's face was remarkably unlined. However, his eyes were ancient. Neither hard nor cruel, they spoke of a weary, self-acknowledged apathy that the blonde found completely astounding.

_Even when he thought he was going to die back in the palace…even when he was yelling and carrying on like that...there was a detachment. He didn't want to die, but death wouldn't have been anything truly special…to him it's just an inconvenience._

"You seem a lot more coherent this morning. The other night you were kind of disoriented."

The blonde didn't reply. Instead, he fought to sit up. He clutched uselessly at his scarred back. It always hurt worse in the morning, but he was tired of lying down. He fought the pain, breathing a sigh of relief as he was finally able to settle himself in an upright position.

"What happened?" Touzouko nodded to the burn marks on his back.

"Don't concern yourself with it. That business was settled a long time ago."

The thief didn't press it. Instead, he merely shrugged and stood, padding off to tinker with something on the other side of the hut. They were in a small, four-walled building. The floor was made of dirt and the only light came from the doorway and a large space in the roof where the thatch had torn away.

Adjusting his still shaky gaze once again on his companion, Mariku watched as Touzouko stirred what appeared to be some kind of stew. It smelled good—rich and salty. Once more the blonde was reminded of just how hungry he truly was. He felt his mouth water. When a bowl of the concoction was finally set before him, he tore into it like a starved animal.

"Don't eat so fast. You'll make yourself sick."

Marik ignored him. It tasted good…it tasted so fucking good! The meat…what kind was it? He didn't know. He didn't care. He hadn't had meat since his time in Baranis.

…_more…_

He held out the empty bowl expectantly. The thief shook his head, protesting again that he would fall ill, but eventually caved under his intense glare and string of curses.

It wasn't until halfway through his third bowl that Mariku's weakened body began to betray him. It struck low in his gut, a burning, agonized sensation that actually caused him to cry out in pain. Somehow, he managed to stand up and stumble to the doorway. The blonde barely made it outside before started to wretch. His shoulders jerked under the strain as his shrunken stomach rejected the food. 

The vomiting exhausted him. Marik felt as if his body had been dashed repeatedly against a stone wall. He was cold. Thinking, much less than seeing straight, had become impossible. No longer capable of controlling his body, the blonde's legs buckled, and he was forced to the dirt on his hands and knees. 

As his stomach emptied and the convulsions slowed, the blonde began to regain awareness of his situation. Throughout the ordeal his hair had remained remarkably unsullied, and Marik realized with a shock that the thief had been holding it back from his face. Touzouko was standing over him, his broad, muscular chest pressed lightly against Marik's back. His breathing was quick and hot, and it tickled the back of the blonde's neck in a way that was almost soothing.

"Idiot. I told you you'd get sick."

Carefully, the larger male pulled him to his feet. However, it was clear that Mariku's motor skills weren't up to it. He only managed to stand on his own for an instant before collapsing with a frustrated groan against the other's sturdy frame. Touzouko picked him up with such ease it took Marik a minute to realize he was off the ground.

"…damn it…no…can walk…"

"Shh…" 

The blonde didn't like being shushed like that and redoubled his efforts to escape. However, by now they had reached the cot where he had been lying. Touzouko set him down gently, pulling over him a red cloak that looked quite the worse for wear.

"You'll have to be more careful than that, Mariku. You're still very ill."

The blonde settled himself more securely beneath the cloak and fixed the thief with a malevolent, if slightly unfocused glare. "…just who the hell do you think you are, anyway? What do you think I am…some kind of pet?"

Touzouko just cracked his knuckles and grinned. "Don't flatter yourself. You'd make a horrible pet. Now go to sleep."

Mariku obeyed not because he wanted to, but because, in truth, he was exhausted. He didn't understand this man, this Touzouko person. Only once before had he met someone with such a capacity for ruthlessness and mercy. It was too ironic to be funny.

_At least he's got those eyes_, Marik mused as he drifted on the brink of consciousness. _Too fucking calm to be like Bakura's…_

For this he was infinitely grateful.

* * *

As he was so wont to do during times of agitation, Bakura paced restlessly about his bedroom. He had just received word from Mahaado. It seemed they had successfully delayed Atemu and his troops. However, the brown-haired general was having trouble keeping peace with Anubis' soldiers.

The lord gritted his teeth in frustration. He had known from the start that Anubis' larger army would be troublesome, but without it he would have little to work with. _Hold on another fortnight, Mahaado. By then Abydos will have fallen, and you can return to Baranis. Damn Anubis…_

Bakura had spent the past two days locked in his chambers. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. All he did was obsess over Abydos and pace…always, always pacing…pacing away at what was really bothering him. 

_On that day…his face…_

'"_I accept your gift, Bakura." Anubis' grin…worse than that of any devil. "May our alliances prosper."_

_His eloquent reply evaporated, false flames quelled by brooding swells of violet. No shouting. No curses or senseless struggle. In his anger, in his poised and avid rage, Mariku had never been so supremely beautiful.'_

"…f-fuck…just shut the fuck up…"

Who was he talking to? Himself? Marik? Marik hadn't talked at all. He simply stood there, chained, head held high so the sharpness of his cheekbones was rendered positively dangerous. His eyes stared right through Akefia as he passed. There was nothing unreadable about them.

"Akefia?" A gentle rap on his door. Ryou.

"What is it?" 

Bakura's voice was hoarse. It had been a long while since he had talked to anyone but himself.

"May I come in?"

The lord threw his door open with enough violence to make his younger sibling jump. "What do you want, Ryou?"

"I…I want to know if you're alright. The past few days, you've…you've been off…"

Standing aside, he allowed the boy to enter. Ryou was worried. He could tell by the way he bit his lip, by the endearing knit that formed between his brows. Akefia almost felt guilty.

"Really, Ryou, I don't know why you're so upset. I've just been preoccupied. Things at Abydos aren't going as smoothly as they should."

The younger smiled wistfully. "Of course, Akefia. Of course that is what's bothering you." He lingered just inside the doorway. His voice was soft and bitter.

Bakura averted his gaze towards the window. He'd never been able to hold up against his brother's gentle anger. It was just as bad as Marik's…no…who was he's kidding? Marik's was infinitely more terrible.

"I need some air." 

"But Akefia! Wait!"

Pushing past Ryou, the lord made his way briskly down the hall. He would get on his horse, go for a ride. He would wander aimlessly through the desert, by the sea…alone. Mariku used to go with him. Once. A long time ago.

"You can't keep doing this!" Ryou was yelling now. Breaking into a light jog, the boy began to catch up. "Just steal him back if it upsets you so much!"

Bakura struck with enough force to send Ryou flying headlong across the hall. There was enough strength, enough _violence_ in that punch to make his hand go numb.

"Don't…R-Ryou…don't fucking…"

Said boy stared at him in abject astonishment. Only once before had Bakura hit him. The lord was horrified with himself, horrified yet disturbingly pleased. It was almost masochistic, the wretched pleasure he got from striking his brother. He loved Ryou unconditionally, but to suggest something like that…it warranted every conceivable punishment.

"I am leaving the palace. Do not get in my way again."

Bakura fled with measured steps, his head held high, chest out…but he couldn't delude himself. He was still running away. He couldn't face his brother's gaze.

* * *

The atmosphere of Anubis' court had seldom been more fearful. A rage consumed the tyrant. He stormed towards the palace gates. 'Stormed' was the only word for it. Anubis was a tempest. Anger incarnate.

The fortress gates swung open. They whined on their hinges, creaking in their haste to allow the Rebel King passage. The look in his eye promised vengeance, murder, senseless and impartial death. The fortress's very foundations seemed to quiver from the weight of it.

"M-my lord…"

The Leader of the Guard was silenced as if by venom. If Anubis was a storm then his gaze was a viper. The hurricane had never been more noxious.

"I have received word…" The lord's voice was low, soft even, but the sentinels—numbers fewer thanks to the Thief—were too frightened even to tremble. "I have received word that, in my absence, something very strange has happened."

The guard who had spoken and was nearest swallowed hard, but the desert air was hot and barren. His voice came out a croak. "Y-yes, Master. That…that is…"

"It seems someone…a bandit…was granted entry…an order given by a fool who now lies dead."

"…a mistake…i-it was…"

Anubis glanced in his direction, and once more the man withered beneath the toxicity of his gaze. "As I was saying, this fool was slain by the bandit…but that is of little consequence. Tell me, for I assume you are now head of this sorry group, was anything stolen?"

The guard made a choking noise, his head jerking in a way that almost resembled a nod.

"He stole something important, something that _belongs_ to me. Isn't that right?"

"…"

The tyrant laughed. It was a sound far different from the low, deceptively calm voice in which he had been speaking. It did not start quietly. There was no climax. Anubis' laugh was huge, abrupt, shattering—to hear it was to hear something horrible and alive, an entirely separate entity. In the same moment he drew his sword and brought it easily through the substance of the head guard's forearm. The hand fell to the sandy earth. An air of the ethereal seemed to fall with it, exploding as the man let out a throat-tearing scream.

"To punish a thief, you cut off his hand. However, in absence of the thief…" Anubis smiled as charmingly as his brutal face would allow. "…punishment falls to the ones who let him get away." 

* * *

Anubis ignored the cries of pain as his soldiers hacked away at the hands of the unfortunate guards. He was used to the sight of blood, to the agony of those whose own stupidity betrayed them. When really concerned him was retrieving Marik. 

It wasn't that the blonde was terribly important to him. At first it had been entertaining, a challenge, breaking that strong body, watching it waste away until every trace of its former loveliness had faded. Even when Mariku's body had lost its tightness, Anubis could always get off to the timbre of his screams. 

It never got boring, either. That's what made Marik special. No matter how degraded he was, no matter what torture or humiliation Anubis dreamt up for him, the defiance wouldn't die. It festered in the remnants of his shattered dignity, latched on, gathered strength. Rooting it out had become a game, a game Anubis had yet to win. Still, as entertaining and frustrating as this game was, the lord could live without it.

What really bothered him was the singular thought, a vague suspicion in the back of his mind, that the Thief who had stolen Mariku was not acting on his own. How else could he have escaped? _Besides, who would want Marik? Sure, the cunt used to look pretty…but this palace is filled with far prettier playthings._

Bakura. In a million years, Anubis wouldn't have thought he'd have the nerve. But it made sense, didn't it? For whatever reason, the lord of Baranis genuinely liked the blonde, liked him enough to be upset by having to give him up. Even the timeframe made sense. With his attentions focused on the sacking of Abydos, the chances of Anubis overlooking or simply ignoring the slave's absence would be greatly increased. 

However, there was one thing that stood out, a clue that gave the lord of Baranis away in an instant. The letter the Thief had used to get past the gates was from Bakura. If the handwriting wasn't enough, the seal dispelled all thoughts of forgery. Three hands, the messenger had said. Each holding a peculiar instrument.

_The Spindle to weave the thread of Life, the Rod to measure out years, and the pair of Shears to end it._ These were the tools of the Moirae, three Greek goddesses, creators of destiny. Only one man would use such symbolism in the wastes of Ra-loving Egypt.

Bakura was a fool. To use such tactics…did he not think Anubis would see through this plot? _But maybe that's what he wants_. The Rebel King smirked despite himself. He knew Bakura hated him, could sense his revulsion from their first meeting. Perhaps, now that Abydos was on the verge of falling, the displaced noble had finally decided to act on this hatred. And who was Anubis to deny him. _Let the fool come if he thinks he has what it takes to betray me._

The Rebel King would welcome him with open arms. 

* * *

**-TOT** (This is a bit shorter than some of my previous chapters. However, it was necessary to introduce some new characters and plot twists. Sorry for the lack of Malik in this chapter. I promise he'll get plenty of text time later!

Also, I hope you'll forgive me for the delay. Hopefully things will begin to move along a bit faster.

PLEASE REVIEW.)


	9. Fix This

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 9: **_Fix This_

* * *

_Nearly a full lunar cycle had passed since the ceremony, and it still hurt. Every morning the boy would wake to the aching of his back, shrug away sleep only to wince as the split flesh stretched and crinkled. In the back of his childish mind, Malik knew it could have been worse, but he didn't want to think of that. His current agony was of more immediate importance. _

"_Would you like some breakfast?"_

_The youngest Ishtar didn't answer. Instead, remained as he had awoken, lying on his stomach, face turned sulkily towards the wall. He could see his sister's shadow flickering uncertainly against the torch-lit stone._

"_Malik, you must eat."_

_He turned his head reluctantly, features scrunched into a scowl. "I'm not hungry."_

"_I know that." Isis sighed and set a bowl of broth before her little brother. "But, in order to heal properly, you must get enough nutrition."_

_Reluctantly, Malik sat up and took a sip from the bowl. Isis had used some sort of vegetable to thicken the broth. Maybe he was hungrier than he'd thought. _

"_Would you like to see Marik today?"_

"_No." The boy shook his head. Ever since the ceremony, he had refused to see his brother._

_Isis ran a hand through her hair. She looked older somehow. She'd lost weight. Her skin was pale and dry. "You cannot blame your brother for what happened, Malik. It is not his fault."_

_The blonde frowned, shoving the half-empty bowl away from him. Isis was lying. They both knew it. "I just don't want to see him. That's all."_

"_Alright, but he's been asking for you."_

_The child turned from his sister huffily. He hated when she brought up Mariku. It had been nearly a year since his botched initiation, and the older boy was still terrifyingly weak. His back had healed over. However, it ached constantly. It had gotten to the point where the wild-haired blonde couldn't even sleep. At night Malik could hear him moaning._

"_I don't want to see him."_

"_Alright, but call for me if you change your mind."_

_Malik turned his back on the retreating Isis, causing his back to give a warning twinge of pain. He was now heir to the duties of the head tomb keeper. It was his honor, his condemnation. It hadn't been his decision, but when the time came he didn't resist._

_The boy knew all too well where resistance got you._

* * *

"…_Malik…"_

_It was late. The torches' makeshift sunlight had long ago burnt out._

"_Why are you here?"_

_The child in the doorway moved a bit closer. "I couldn't sleep."_

_Malik frowned. "I don't want to talk to you."_

"_I don't care."_

"_Go away!"_

"_Not too loud." Mariku put a finger to his lips, turning stiffly to see if anyone had heard. He approached the bed with short, uncertain steps. Every so often he would grip at his tunic-hidden back, a habit that would become more subconscious as time went on. His face was sharper than Malik remembered, his eyes older and very dark._

"…_I hate you…" The younger blonde glared helplessly at his clenched fists. "I hate you. This is all your fault."_

"_All of it?" Mariku was standing next to his bed now. His legs were shaking. "Don't be stupid, Malik. I didn't ask for Father to pass the initiation down to you."_

"_But you knew he would," Malik whispered. "When you refused to go through with it, you knew that he would turn to me."_

"_So did you." Mariku sat down at the edge of the mattress. "We both did."_

_Malik felt tears clinging to his cheeks. He grimaced as his brother's prematurely cold hands tried to wipe them away._

"_Do you want me to apologize?"_

"_No. Just leave me alone."_

_Anger illuminated the shadows of Mariku's gaze. He slammed his fist into the younger's stomach. This single act of violence left him struggling to breathe._

"_Do have any idea how hard it was? I couldn't __**move**__, Malik, for months…I couldn't even roll over. It was like…it was like being dead…"_

"_Then why? Why did you…"_

"_You will never understand…" Marik's words were barely words…more like the tail ends of a malignant breeze. "…how much I hate our father." _

"…_for what he did to you?"_

"_Yes…no. It's more complicated than that."_

_Malik frowned, massaging his bruised belly. "You never make any sense."_

"_Willingly…how could he willingly devote his life to such a…such a __**pointless**__ cause? You'd think after a few years, after __**his**__ father died…but he stayed…coward."_

"…_maybe he really believes…in all of that…"_

_Mariku stiffened as if struck. His hands clenched, unclenched, clenched again. "Believe in it?" He let out a snort of laughter. "Believe in gods like ours…beings who would lock our people beneath the earth for…for no other reason than so that we may worship them? Meaningless, revering such vain creatures…if the gods were truly just they would not demand such things."_

"_Then leave." Malik was tired of this. Talking to Marik always left him with too much to think about. It was late in the night, and he was too exhausted to question the moral fabric of his faith. "Leave, if you hate it so much. You're no longer heir, so who's going to stop you?"_

"_I can't, Malik. Not just yet."_

"_Don't be stupid, Marik! What's stopping you?"_

_The wilder blonde smiled strangely, a crooked, almost lewd gesture that would take Malik many repetitions to get used to. "You don't want this either, do you?"_

"…_no…but I don't have much of a choice thanks to you…"_

_Marik seemed to take this as a sign that it was time for him to go. He swung his legs carefully to the edge of the bed and began making his way across the room. However, when he reached the doorway, the child paused. _

"_Don't worry, Malik," he whispered, facing the empty hallway rather than his perplexed younger sibling. "I can fix this."_

* * *

"_Marik, what have you done?"_

_Isis' voice was that of a mother scolding her unruly child. It was calm, mildly condescending…not at all appropriate for the situation._

'_She should be screaming,' Malik thought. 'Screaming her lungs out.'_

_But she wasn't. Neither was he…nor Rishid for that matter. They simply stood, gathered around the foot of the Memory Tablet, too shocked to function properly. Marik faced them unflinchingly. It had been nearly two years since 'the accident'—for some reason they called it that—and he was no longer weak. _

"_Mariku…" Isis was still the only one capable of speech. "This is horrible. W-we have to…"_

"_Sister, he's dead."_

_The boy said this with total apathy. His back was straight. His bloodstained hands could not have been steadier._

"_Why?" Rishid's words were choked with emotion. Despite their father's cruelty towards him, he seemed the only one finding it hard to hold back tears. "Mariku, why would you do such a thing?"_

_Marik stared at the body near his feet, at the hacked up, bloody corpse that had once been his father. He smiled. The knife was still imbedded in the eldest Ishtar's chest. "Why do you care? He was wasting his life, anyway."_

_Rishid lurched forward in anger, but Malik beat him to it. He screamed as he lunged at his older brother. It was a cry of desperate and uncomprehending rage. The bestial urge to lash out, to destroy something for the sake of destruction, for the closure granted by justifying one's own pain. This wasn't his brother. This was a monster, a dead-eyed beast with the grin of a trickster._

_They tore into each other, nails, teeth, fists…mirror devils, golden children glowing with blood. The fight seemed surreal, bizarre and unsettling in the way of an ill-remembered nightmare. Children giving themselves over to that which is inherent, that which is instinctive and primal and just human enough to be frightening. Small bodies clashed with enough force to lose their balance. They fell, still fighting, rolling in their father's blood. Rishid and Isis did nothing to pull them apart. Theirs' was a site too horrendous to approach. _

"_I hate you!" Malik drove his knee squarely into the older boy's chest, almost enjoying the scream it induced. "Why didn't you just leave?" His nails raked angrily over the scarred flesh of Marik's back. "You didn't…didn't have to…"_

"_Stop it." There was less ice in Mariku's voice, less of that cold-hearted conviction that had come to define his presence. "Malik…you're so stupid…"_

_The younger blonde ignored him. Marik was just angry because he wasn't winning. Malik's rage lent him strength, and with it he was beginning to gain the upper hand._

"_He's dead, Malik." By now Marik had stopped fighting. He just lay there, taking the hits and smirking thoughtfully to himself. "Don't you understand...?" _

"_SHUT __**UP!**__" With a feral cry, Malik hit his brother hard across the face. "You monster! You freak! HOW CAN YOU BE SMILING?!"_

_Malik's punches slowed. He was too exhausted. The adrenaline was beginning to fade, and all he was left with was the truth. His father was dead, killed by his own son. There would be no divine intervention, no miraculous resurrection by the gods. But what really made him cringe was neither the fact of the death nor the site of his father's mutilated corpse. It was the knowledge that deep down, somewhere where the grip of social correctness had lost its hold, Malik was alright with this. A part of him had known all along what would happen. In order for them to be free, in order to rid their family of the curse of tradition and duty, the head of the Ishtar household had to fall._

"_You see?" Mariku gazed up at his younger brother. His grin was both twisted and sincere. "I told you I'd fix it."_

* * *

Malik lay against the stones of the palace courtyard, allowing their sun-borrowed heat to warm his back. He stretched deeply, reveling in the elasticity of his muscles. It had been several days since his confrontation with Bakura, and the volatile noble hadn't so much as glanced his way. The blonde was grateful for this. However, he was also wary. Their situation may have been an exceptional one, but he was still a slave.

"Malik?"

By now he had come to welcome Ryou's voice. It was bright, sweet... and Malik hadn't had anyone to talk to in a long while.

"Ryou…Master Ryou…" The blonde bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "How's your face?"

The paler boy grinned sheepishly, reached up to touch the bruised flesh where his brother had struck him. "It looks awful, I'm sure, but to tell you the truth it doesn't really hurt. What brings you to the courtyard?"

Malik smiled. Conversations with Ryou took some getting used to. The only other person he had ever had to talk to was Mariku, and with him it had usually been nothing but insults and verbal sparring. However, talking to Ryou was different. The young noble was polite without being formal, kind in a way that was totally genuine. Malik found he liked it…almost to a fault.

"What brings me out here? I don't really know. Just tired of being inside, I suppose."

"I see." Ryou closed his eyes, face tilting to greet the sun. "That makes sense. Your brother would have said the same thing. He hated being cooped up."

"…I know…" Malik rose to stand next to the paler boy. "…what did you think of him…my brother, I mean?"

"Mariku was…well, I was scared of him…I still am, but he wasn't…isn't bad…not like Anubis."

Ryou paused for a moment, his face one of deep consternation. It was as if the young noble knew what he wanted to say but not how—or if—he should. _He looks pretty, _Malik thought. A furrowed brow suited him. So did the faint sunburn on his cheeks.

"I guess the thing I find most interesting about your brother is how…is how he made Akefia fall in love with him. It confused me for the longest time. They're so alike; you'd think they would tear each other apart."

Malik almost laughed. "I could see that happening, yes."

"But they didn't, and…and after awhile I realized something. My brother couldn't have fallen in love with anyone _but_ Mariku. He needed someone strong, someone every bit as callous and temperamental as he was. In a sense they were perfect for each other. Neither could make the other break."

Malik swallowed hard. What Ryou said made perfect sense. Mariku was not an easy person to love. Nor was Bakura for that matter, but together…together they could defy a world that would not love them. They could create something almost beautiful…if only for as long as their volatile natures would allow.

"You have every right to hate my brother for what he did to Mariku, but I want you to know that he regrets it. More so than anything he has ever done."

"I understand." And in truth Malik did understand. He comprehended exactly the peculiarities of the relationship between Bakura and his brother, and, though this did not bring him any closer to forgiving the Lord of Baranis, it explained the nature of his betrayal.

"I-I want to thank you." Ryou was looking at him now, brown eyes shivering with some inexplicable emotion. "You probably don't feel the same way, considering what's happened to you and your brother, but…but I want you to know that I enjoy your company." The young noble stared at his hands, face flushed with embarrassment. "I hope we can be friends…at least on some level."

Something in these words touched Malik. In an instant he was embracing Ryou. In another world, in another life…he would have given anything to say, _"Ryou, I __**am**__ your friend."_ But he couldn't. In good conscience, how could Malik befriend one whose brother he so hated? The goodness in Mariku's heart may have paled in comparison to that in Ryou's, but Mariku was his brother…and Bakura had wronged him deeply.

_Blood runs more potent than friendship. _

This was a truth he could not escape.

* * *

"You're certainly in a lovely mood this morning." Touzouko smirked to himself, watching as his blonde companion limped grouchily around the hut. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"

Mariku shot his savior a vehement glare. He'd been in a foul mood since the previous evening, for no other reason, the thief presumed, than that he was bored stiff. Other than this, however, he was doing remarkably well. His fever had blown over several nights ago, and even his weight was up. He was still thin, though…thin and unbending in a fragile, glasslike way. Touzouko was hesitant to ask the blonde too much about his time spent at Anubis' fortress…or anything else about his past for that matter. It wasn't that he wasn't curious. On the contrary, Mariku enthralled him. However, the shadow in the former slave's eyes caused the thief to question his curiosity. Maybe he didn't want to find out.

"Your back still hurts."

The blonde snorted. "What the fuck makes you say that?"

The thief shrugged casually, already acclimated to his companion's unappreciative nature. "Your posture. It's terrible."

Mariku sneered back at him but straightened up considerably. "What's with you anyway? Staring at me all the time…it almost makes me think you like me."

This time Touzouko laughed out loud, his normally low, emotionless voice rising neatly to a lilting baritone. "Like you? Of course I fucking like you! If I didn't, I wouldn't keep you arou…"

Realizing the unintended implications of his words, the thief allowed his words to die. It didn't take a genius to discern what manner of torment had been inflicted upon Mariku. Touzouko could not be described as kind. However, his cruelty certainly had its limits.

"…uh…that came out…"

The smirk on the former slave's lips once more caused the thief to fall silent. Rickety gate as confident as he'd ever seen it, Mariku approached. "Idiot. I know what you meant. If anything, I should feel safer. We don't generally rape the people we like."

Touzouko blinked several times, grappling with the bluntness of his companion's words. The blonde was still smiling, evidently relishing the awkward situation he had created. His smile…it was strange. Mariku's body was so twisted, ugly and emaciated beyond its years, but in his smile—sharp and sly and nimble in its unrelenting sarcasm—one could catch a flash of youth, the faintest glimmer of the vitality and venomous good looks irretrievably lost to memory.

Mariku was terribly close now, so close they were nearly touching. "See? You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Staring at me."

The blonde wasn't all that much shorter than Touzouko. Had the scarring on Marik's back allowed him to stand straight, their eyes may even have been level. However, the thief was still taken aback by the boldness of his gaze. It was as if the blonde was daring Touzouko to call him weak, challenging him to force an admission to the damaging effect wrought by Anubis' torment.

"Staring at you?" The thief leaned in subconsciously, drawn against his will by the fiery arrogance of the blonde's gaze. "Yes, I suppose I am. You see, I've never met someone like you before. You're interesting."

"Oh?" Mariku tilted his head to the side, a gesture that, like his smile, offered a brief glimpse of extinguished beauty. "And what exactly makes me interesting, Touzouko?"

The thief chuckled, so close his breath nipped playfully at the other's bangs. "If I knew the answer to that one then you wouldn't be interesting anymore, now would you?"

Marik moved in quickly, so quickly in fact that it took Touzouko a moment to register what was happening. The kiss was more of a chap-lipped peck than anything. It was hard, impetuous and clumsy in its impatience. The thief was astonished. The word resilience didn't even begin to describe Mariku's character. How was it possible? To maintain such…such sexuality…even after… The blonde was either insane or entirely shameless.

"When one is kissed, the polite thing to do is kiss back."

Mariku was smirking at him again, that haunted, almost scornful leer that made Touzouko feel as if it were all a test. _No, not even a test…a game._ The asshole was mocking him!

The blonde yelled out in pain and astonishment as he was shoved bodily to the ground. He could feel the other's weight pressing him into the earth, sense his own uncertainty like unwelcome bile rising in his throat.

"Hmm… So I've offended you, have I?"

The thief gazed down at him, slate gray eyes for once expressive, stormy even. Despite this, however, Touzouko's voice remained perfectly composed. "Offended me? No, not really. I'm more surprised than anything."

Mariku detected something sultry in this conversational tone, something unsaid and wanting. It was only now that he realized his own desire. The kiss was only intended to prove a point. However, he realized too late that its implications were greater. It had been so long since the blonde had experienced anything close to sexual gratification that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like—to long for human contact rather than abhor it.

The former slave moaned a little, hands sliding with practiced ease over the unmarred expanse of the other's back. Touzouko's skin was dry and warm, smelling keenly of sweat and something bitter. It was reminiscent of another time yet new enough to not be painful. He arched into him, ignoring the pain this motion caused, and was instantly rewarded as a choked groan tore itself from the bandit's throat.

"You're something else, Mariku Ishtar. Fuck, what's wrong with you?"

The blonde laughed. "I hate losing. If I let the past control me, that's exactly what I'll end up doing."

"Oh, so you're just using me as a game piece. Is that it?"

"Something like that. Does it bother you?"

Touzouko shrugged, his gaze once more impassive. "Not really." He bent down, shoving his tongue past the blonde's partially open lips. The kiss was harsh, so harsh in fact that for a moment Mariku was tentative…but it was also warm, warm and passionate in a way no forced kiss could ever be. The blonde found he liked it, liked it enough to start kissing back.

"You're…pretty energetic… for such a skinny bastard."

"…judgments founded on physical appearances are notoriously faulty…" Marik nipped playfully at Touzouko's lower lip, drawing forth a shimmer of blood.

"Ouch…" The thief's retaliation was quick. Hands slipping beneath the fabric of the other's robe, the thief trailed his nails seductively up and down his thigh before digging in harshly for a good pinch. "Always fighting, aren't you…"

"…" Mariku gazed past him, staring deeply into the empty space between their bodies and the ceiling. He buried his fingers almost unconsciously in Touzouko's hair, noting the tangles and sandy texture with an air of detached relief. They were the tresses of a common bandit…nothing well-kept or royal about them.

_It's too bad, thought. He doesn't smell like sea salt._

"Hey, wake up a little, will you?" The thief's scar crinkled as he frowned. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet."

Marik shook his head. "No. I was just thinking."

_The things that come back to haunt us…they're never quite what we expect them to be, are they?_

Another kiss, this time at the juncture of his neck and collarbone, roused the blonde from his revelry. He squirmed as the thief's tongue and fingers traced the contours of his body, all roughened palms and tracks of cool saliva evaporating in the air. Touzouko reminded him of a predatory cat—the white tiger he had glimpsed once at the trading center in Baranis. Bakura had wanted to buy it, but the poor thing had died days later from an infection. He could still remember the young lord's anger.

'"_Stupid animal! I thought tigers were supposed to be powerful."_

"_False advertising, huh?" Marik was only half listening. Perched on the windowsill of Akefia's bedroom, he found the distant ocean far more interesting. "You should know by now, Bakura, that most creatures appear stronger than they actually are."_

_The young lord came and stood beside him, running a hand thoughtfully over the abrasive sandstone surface of the window's ledge. "You're telling me that animals are like people. Is that it?"_

"_You've got it backwards." Mariku continued to gaze past Bakura, past Baranis, into the cerulean emptiness of the Mediterranean. "Animals aren't like people. People are like animals. They spend their whole lives fighting tooth and nail for more power, more wealth…for the ultimate lie that is happiness. Always wanting more, groping blindly for the false pillars of prestige and honor. But in the end it isn't the strongest who rise to the top. Rather, the ones who win are those capable of tricking themselves into thinking they are fighting for something more significant than the meaningless lengthening of their existence."'_

Mariku and Touzouko's moment of intimacy didn't last long. Mariku's body still weakened easily, and the thief was reluctant to push him much farther…much to the blonde's vexation. Now Marik lay curled in a pile of blankets near the fire. Touzouko stood in the doorway not five paces from him, moon-drenched hair tinted a pearly blue. His slate-colored eyes were almost black now, impassive as weathered granite.

Yes, Touzouko reminded Marik of the tiger—caged and sick inside the guise of a powerful body. The blonde could see the damage dormant in the mires of that apathetic gaze. He remembered that fateful night at Anubis' fortress...how quickly the thief's desperation to stay alive had given way to resignation. It was as if maintaining hope took too much effort, as if he longed for the freedom granted by despair.

_Then why is he still fighting?_ Marik wondered, mechanically reaching around to rub his lower back. Touzouko wasn't ambitious enough to fight for recognition, and he certainly lacked the self-righteousness necessary to fight in the name of God. Why, then? Why did he steal? Why did he kill? The thief was an enigma, a bizarre mixture of hedonism, cruelty, and valor that was both dazzling and slightly vulgar.

_Hedonism, cruelty, and valor._

God, he was so much like Bakura.

Yet he was also different, and that's what made him bearable. Unlike Akefia, Touzouko was calm, pensive. He was indifferent to the world's injustice, whereas Akefia loathed it, preferring his own, skewered sense of right and wrong.

_Damn Bakura and his love for revenge. Even at the brink of Hell he would still cling to it._

And this was the truth. Akefia Bakura wasn't fighting to regain stolen lands…at least not primarily. No, his main concern was vengeance. Pure and simple. As elegant and terrible in design as the fangs of a predator. It was an obsession that usurped everything else. Friends, family, alliances…all were expendable in his crusade for retribution. Mariku had fallen victim to it, and a part of him knew he was neither the first nor the last to have done so. How low would the Lord of Baranis stoop? Would he sacrifice his generals? His men? His own brother?

_If Anubis had demanded Ryou instead of me, would he have agreed to it?_

There was a part of Marik that said no, that knew…or rather hoped…that Bakura would not resort to this. However, the blonde's cynical nature crushed this hope almost instantly. Humans could be loyal to a fault…that is until loyalty lost its benefit. Then they resorted to their crueler, basic nature.

So maybe the thought of Bakura buying revenge with his own flesh and blood wasn't so much of a stretch. _I suppose it would be wrong for me to be too self-righteous about the whole thing, though. _After all, Mariku, himself, was not completely innocent when it came to the betrayal of kin.

"Hey, Marik."

"Hmm?" The blonde gave his white-haired companion a quizzical look. "What is it this time?"

Touzouko smiled, straight white teeth flashing briefly—a tantalizing glimmer defying the darkness. "Oh, nothing…it's just…"

"Just what?!" The blonde snorted in annoyance. He hated to be teased.

"It's just that…well…you're staring at me, and it almost…" The thief's grin grew wider, making his hardened features appear as young as they actually were.

"It almost makes me think you like me."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, boss?"

Seth gritted his teeth, barely suppressing his urge to correct the blonde. "Yes, Jounouchi. I have a job for you."

"Oh?" The slave tilted his head to the side, deceptively playful eyes trying in vain to read his master's features. "Can I ask what?"

"A message." The priest paused to clear his throat, a nervous habit he had picked up from his mother. "I am sending a request to the Pharaoh's southern general, Akunadin, requesting aid. You are to deliver it."

Jounouchi blinked several times in astonishment. "Y-you…you what?"

"Let me repeat myself. Akunadin and his troops are stationed near the Nile at the northern outskirts of the Nubian Desert. You are to journey there as quickly as possible, and deliver this letter." Seth drew forth a papyrus scroll from the depths of his robes. "It is a request for reinforcements to help us defeat the armies of Bakura and Anubis."

The priest fell silent, trying to gauge the slave's reaction. To sneak out of Abydos, let alone make it to Nubia, seemed like a fool's errand. The city was completely surrounded by rebels…but if anyone had a chance…

"It is my understanding that you are familiar with region of the Upper Nile. Is that true?"

Jounouchi nodded. "Yeah…yes. Under my last master."

"That is why I chose you." Seth gave the boy a piercing look, attempting with a glance to find the sum of his courage. "I know it is dangerous…maybe impossible, but finding General Akunadin is our last hope. I know you are a slave and do not revere this city of those who inhabit it, but I can promise you this. If you succeed you will be granted your freedom. If not, the city of Abydos will fall, and you will be free by default."

"And if I die?"

"The answer to that depends on the sanctity of your soul."

Jounouchi chuckled. "You know, boss, I never had you pegged for the religious type. That sounds stupid, being as you're the High Priest and all, but you're not a true believer, are you?"

Seth shrugged and surprised his companion by cracking the slightest of smiles. "I believe in the people. What the citizens of Egypt believe in, I must believe in as well. If they choose to believe in gods, so do I. If not…"

"So you believe in the People."

"I believe in the stability of government."

There was a moment of speculative silence—each trying to encompass the newly realized dimensions of the other. Finally, Jounouchi spoke.

"So, who is this Akunadin guy, anyway? Do you really think he'll help us?"

"I…yes…I do."

The slave boy scratched his chin. "The outskirts of Nubia, eh? It's a ten day trip…four on horseback."

"We'll provide you with supplies and money to buy a horse at a nearby village. Will you do it?"

Jounouchi nodded. "Are you gonna send a soldier with me? You know, to make sure I don't run off or anything?"

"No," Seth shook his head. "As much as it pains me, I'll have to trust you. Ra knows I can't spare another man."

"Then I'll do it." The slave seemed to grow taller somehow, bolstered by his newfound sense of duty. "Don't worry, boss. You can trust me!"

"Good. We can't waste anymore time, so you'll have to leave this evening. We'll create a diversion to increase your chances of making it through the rebel lines. Is that acceptable?"

"Yeah…hey, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"Who is this Akunadin person? Do you know 'im?"

"…yes…" Seth bit down hard on his annoyance. As a slave, Jounouchi's impudence was unacceptable. However, as a savior to his city…

"Yes, I do know him. General Akunadin is my father."

* * *

**-TOT** (It's finally up! As usual, all I can offer for an excuse to my late update is my usual spiel about being busy with school and work. Getting ready for Music Festival and studying for the SAT and AP History Test are basically sucking my will to live. How I'll find any time to write next year when I'm applying for college is something I have yet to face.

PLEASE REVIEW.


	10. Be Something

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 10: Be Something**

* * *

"We're leaving."

"Akefia! What are you talking about?"

"I don't have time for this, Ryou. You will do as I say!"

Ryou watched in powerless disbelief as his brother tore about the room. Papers scattered in his wake. Furniture seemed to jump out of his path in fear. Ryou realized with a start that his brother was panicking. Akefia was actually frightened.

"We'll slip out later tonight. The moon's barely half full, so we should be afforded at least some…"

"Akefia!"

With a spastic jerk, the older male turned to face him. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, it was as if he were seeing Ryou for the first time. For a moment he seemed some otherworldly creature, primitive and elemental, a remnant of the time before man.

"Akefia…" Ryou struggled to speak, too caught in this ethereal illusion and his own sense of panic. "Akefia, what has happened? Why are we leaving Baranis?"

"Why?" For a moment the lord cast about wildly before his eyes finally settled on a crumpled note sitting apart from the others on his desk. "This…" He grabbed the paper, shoving it with too much force into Ryou's hands. "Read it."

The boy gave his brother a quizzical look and proceeded to smooth the parchment out over the back of the chair. "What is this? A letter?"

_Menthu,_

_Wolves of Egypt's imposter city follow the dying sun. They hunger for the fish lying in their path._

_The fish is rotten. Abandon one ocean for another. _

_Apep _

Upon reading this, some Akefia's panic began seeping into Ryou's heart. If Anubis' message proved true, the Pharaoh's troops would be upon Baranis in a matter of days. With most of its own resources diverted to the attack on Abydos, the rebel city would fall easily into the hands of Alexandria's generals.

However, it was something altogether darker that caused Ryou's blood to shiver. _What if Anubis is lying?_ It wouldn't be the first time the Rebel King betrayed his comrades. Anubis' was not a world of morals. It was a world of power and deceit. But if it were true that he planned to betray them, what were his motives? This thought left the boy feeling distinctly unsettled.

"We'll pack this evening. Leave a bit after midnight and…"

"Akefia?"

"Quiet, Ryou. I'm thinking." Bakura redoubled his pacing. "Leave after midnight. Head south. Don't stop until…"

"Until what? When? Where will we go, Akefia?"

The older of two drew in a startled hiss of breath. "…go…where will we go?" Bakura looked horrified, livid…sick. "We'll go to Anubis' castle…he…he invited us."

"…and you find nothing strange in that?"

At this, Bakura's tension burst into a fit of rage. Grabbing his brother by the collar, he thrust him up against the wall and gave him a good shake. "What choice do I have, Ryou? WOULD YOU HAVE ME SURRENDER TO THE PHARAOH?"

"N-no…Akefia…brother, please…"

"LET GO OF HIM!"

The grip on his tunic suddenly loosened, and Ryou found himself on the floor. Reason struggling to match pace with bewilderment, he gazed at the spectacle before him in a sort of uncomprehending daze.

Mariku and Akefia wrestling on the floor. Fighting. Cursing. Blows that equivocated love. Love that transcended personality. It was like watching a hyena and a lion drink from the same watering hole. It shouldn't work. It wasn't logical. Yet somehow…

But this wasn't Mariku. It was Malik. Malik, who was not in love with Akefia, who did not have Mariku's crafty smile or his mocking voice or his maddening, bruised-violet eyes. Yet here he was, holding Bakura back as Marik had always done, not subduing him, but matching him in a way that would remind Akefia to be less volatile.

"Don't touch him! Do you here me? DON'T PUNISH RYOU FOR YOUR MISTAKE!"

"My mistake…" The lord of Baranis lay on the floor, pinned there by an upstart slave with pretty blonde hair and startling eyes. "My mistake…what the fuck are you talking about?"

Malik laughed. The noise was bright and clear even in its anger. "You're scared to face him."

"Who? Anubis?"

"…don't play stupid. You know exactly who I'm speaking of."

These words erased whatever remained of Malik's subservience, of his fear of Bakura and his concept of what it meant to be a slave. He was free now as Marik had been free, and theirs' was an autonomy unaffected by the bonds of steel or status.

_Am I scared?_ The question shocked Bakura to the core. The thought of meeting Mariku tortured him, filled him with regret so poignant as to border unbearable…but did it scare him?

"Mariku has never frightened me. I am perhaps the only person who can say that."

He spoke the truth. Torment does not equate fear. Neither does anguish. The word itself seemed to imply that Bakura did not _want_ to see Marik, but this assumption was inaccurate. Bakura knew the blonde would hate him, knew that he would like nothing better than to spit in his face and utterly destroy him. However, the Lord of Baranis had always been a bit of a masochist. He was willing to risk destruction if it meant seeing him once more.

"We'll leave tonight. Just the three of us. Tell no one. To cause a panic would be unfortunate."

Akefia's words were clipped, forced even. They shivered with a brand of determination found only at the furthest edge of despairing. Malik got up, allowing the man who had been his master to stand as well.

"He won't forgive you. You know that, right?"

"Of course." Akefia stared past the blonde, gaze lost in the sunlight playing at the fringe of the curtains. He looked weathered somehow, a statue left to the whim of the elements. "To tell you the truth, I would be disappointed in him if he did."

His voice was cracked. Like granite.

* * *

Touzouko prowled easily through Anubis' city, overlooked despite the glare of the noonday sun. He had perfected the art of going unnoticed long ago and executed his petty thieving while meandering the market at a leisure stroll. The bandit had no qualms about exposing his face. In fact, his looks often proved advantageous. Few dared to question such a scarred, muscular, and abnormally pale-haired ruffian as himself.

_Bread…meat…fruit, maybe…anything else?_

The thief slowed for a minute, giving himself time to think. He had already pilfered most of these necessities from the market, but perhaps he should get something for Marik. It wasn't as if the bastard would appreciate it, but even so…

_Maybe something for his throat. _

The coughing had begun to concern him. The blonde's injuries were healing remarkably well, and even his back didn't seem to trouble him as it used to. However, it was as if Mariku's lungs were still constantly fighting for air. The coughs weren't light either. Rather, they consisted of a deep, wet hacking that was much too violent for Touzouko's liking.

_What's used to sooth a sore throat anyway? An elixir? Some kind of stone? Maybe a…_

A sudden commotion stirred the market's crowd, and the thief dropped back instinctively to the shadows of a nearby alley. Feet scurried, a lone drum rumbled, but the voices of the townspeople fell abnormally silent. What could it be? Captured enemies? A contingent of soldiers? Maybe word had spread that the very thief who broke into Anubis' fortress was currently stealing apples from a nearby…

_A procession_.

A chariot came into view, surrounded on all sides by horsemen. It crawled down the dirty streets of the market with an air of regality. The convoy was stately, disciplined, adorned with flourishes of gold trim and headed by a great, black flag.

A black flag stands for either war or sickness, and Anubis seemed to embody both of these. It was on this assumption alone that Touzouko stole along behind them. Because of the thicket of horseflesh and man obscuring his view, the thief could not make out the chariot's driver…however, who else but Anubis could inspire enough fear to make a town fall silent?

The procession stopped just at the edge of the oasis, and Touzouko was astounded to find another envoy already waiting for it. At the head of this group stood a robed figure. He was tall and lean, and, though the thief was unable to see his face, he possessed a distinct air of severity and old age.

"We meet again, Anubis."

The wizened figure came forward and bowed as the chariot wheeled into view. The man who stepped off the contraption could be none other than Anubis. Powerfully built with dirty blond hair and eyes of an indeterminable color, he clearly fancied himself a godking as much as any Pharaoh. Anubis' attire was composed of brightly colored linens and gold trim. His armor was brightly polished, shining of lapis lazuli and moonstone, and the tyrant' cape was made of imported silk, black to match his flag.

"So you say." Anubis laughed, and in an instant Touzouko understood the deathly muteness of the crowd. "I suppose you got my message."

"I did, and I'd like to discus it in your confidence if I may."

The two men drew away from their envoys, and Touzouko found himself scooting farther back into the brush as they drew nearer. Finally, when they were practically on top of him, Anubis and his companion stopped.

"I must say, Anubis, I wouldn't expect a plan as flawed as this to come from one such as yourself."

"Flawed?" The larger man let out another growl of laughter. "Don't be so hasty to judge me, Akunadin. I know Bakura better than you think!"

"Still, if he doesn't come…"

"Trust me. He'll be here."

The hooded man known as Akunadin shook his head. "You have to understand my position. I am committing treason against the court of the Pharaoh. If this plan were to fail and become publicized…"

"Then you would be guilty of nothing more than failing to kill one of Alexandria's greatest enemies."

"It isn't that simple, Anubis. We both know how suspicious such a random act would seem. Besides, you should think of your own fortunes. Is not Bakura one of your greatest allies?"

Anubis grinned, causing his face to light up weirdly. "Akefia Bakura has served his purpose and remains only as an unnecessary loose end. I don't do well with loose ends, Akunadin. They're sloppy."

"I see." The older man suddenly seemed to grow smaller. Shriveled like a reed, even his voice was tired. "And how can you expect me to trust you, Anubis? You who have betrayed so many for ends of your own?"

"I expect nothing of you. The way I see it, we are not allies. We are merely men whose goals warrant the same means. As long as our paths are parallel we fight together."

"And when they cross…"

"That depends, Akunadin, on the interests of the victor."

Touzouko waited until the men were out of earshot before he began making his way back towards the oasis' outskirts. He weaved his way through the foliage more clumsily than usual, mind preoccupied with what he just heard.

_Akefia Bakura, hmm? Whoever the guy is, it sounds as if they're going to kill him. _

From the brief conversation, the thief had gathered that this Bakura person was a rebel in league with Anubis. Also, Akunadin's talk of treason suggested that the old man had ties to the Pharaoh.

_Akunadin. I've heard that name before, but without his face…_

Deciding to ask Marik about it when he returned, Touzouko let loose a short, incredibly piercing whistle. Within seconds, his horse appears, delicate Arabian legs skipping easily over the bits of scrub and loose sand. He patted the creature's head absently. "I don't suppose you know what's going on here, do you?"

The creature merely snorted. Of course not. After all, he was only a horse.

* * *

Over the rise, another eavesdropper was also preparing to take his leave. His hands shook. His yellow hair, already weighted down with grit, drooped further.

_I'm sorry Master Seto, but there will be no aid coming from your father._

He turned his horse northward and took off at a steady canter.

* * *

_The moon was too bright. It hurt his eyes, pinned him down and made him feel like an insect, exposed to the insufferable scrutiny of the darkened sky. He was helpless beneath the illumination of its insistent glare, and above all else, he hated being helplessness. _

"_My head hurts."_

_No one was listening. In this ocean of moonlight and bone-white sands his voice came forth and died. There were no winds to carry it, no walls to form an echo. It wouldn't be so bad to stay here, he mused. He kind of liked the quiet. _

_But just as this thought came to him, he realized that nothing about this place was quiet. It was the stillness. He could hear it even when the atoms were motionless. A low hum coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, subtle but once heard incapable of being ignored. He was accustomed to sound accompanying motion, but this was sound of immobility itself. Every time he took a step or attempted to breathe the moonlight tainted air the hum would be disrupted._

_So he froze, stopped breathing, allowed his organs to go quiet and the electrons buzzing around his nuclei to fall back into their cores. He let the sound of absolute stillness take him, and for once in his life he felt something like peace._

_But the funny thing about peace is that, once grasped, it is remarkably hard to hold on to. Already, he could sense something disrupting the stillness. Hands reaching out, grasping him, bending his limbs and sending pain running up his spine in short, sulfurous bursts. He kept his eyes closed, trying to focus on the barely audible hum of silence, but the hands refused to go unnoticed. They fingered his hair and teeth, forced him to his knees and wormed their way inside him until their presence became too much to bear. He cried out, a keening wail that forever pierced the silence and left his mind brutally aware._

_He was no longer in the desert. Gone was the too-bright moonlight and the calcified sand heavy and unstirring beneath his feet. He was laying on his stomach now, chest heaving against something unbearably soft. He was sweating copiously but did not feel overheated. In fact, he felt cold, chilled to the bone with fear. _

_The hands again. On his neck, his back, gripping his thighs with enough strength to tear flesh. More than anything he hated this touch. So heavy and mocking, knowing every part of him inside and out._

"_Didn't put up much of a fight this time, did you?" Laughter. He wanted to vomit. "Oh well. Maybe you're learning."_

_Rage. Helpless, hopeless, stupid rage burning inside him, searing his lungs, blistering the winding track of his intestine. He turned to kill, turned to put those mocking hands and that grating voice to rest. He ignored the agony in his back, the fact that his throat hurt and he was choking on his own blood. His senses were blinded by hatred. The only thing left was resistance, futile and frivolous though it seemed._

_It was only when the true pain started that he gave in and allowed himself to scream._

* * *

"Marik."

The wild-haired blonde sat up with a start, only to fall back as his body was wracked with coughs. The pain came from deep in his chest, welling up until it burst in a crimson trickle from his mouth. He screamed then, not in pain or rage this time, but out of sheer frustration.

"You had a nightmare."

"A nightmare?" Marik lurched to his feet blindly, back aching, his vision reduced to a chimera of whirling light. "A fucking nightmare? YOU BASTARD! ONLY CHILDREN HAVE NIGHTMARES!"

And then his legs turned to mud, and Mariku was falling and falling until…

Strong arms around his waist, a muscular chest supporting him, and a scarred cheek pressed against his throat.

"Calm down. You're bleeding again."

The world began to rematerialize, and Marik realized with a shock that he was sitting on Touzouko's lap. He stared stupidly into the thief's eyes. They gazed back at him mildly, gray and unassuming.

"That's better. You shouldn't…"

Grabbing him roughly by the hair, the blonde jerked Touzouko down into a violent kiss. The thief did nothing to resist. The intensity of the exchange completely overwhelmed him. So did the taste of the other's blood. He had never known arousal as he did now, had not understood until this moment the vivid, excruciating passion that was Marik Ishtar.

"Mariku, what are you…"

"Shh…" The blonde bit his lip. Drew blood. "Stop talking for once. You sound like an old woman."

And with that the King of Thieves was subjugated. His mouth became concerned with matters beyond mere speech, and the last of his apathy was consumed by forces more potent than stolen silver. Years later, or what could have been years if he'd had that long to live, Touzouko might think of Marik as a kind of Jinn, a demon of the desert with sandy hair and a wicked streak of promiscuity. However, at this moment he was too real to be a specter.

It was the first time they had sex. The last time also.

"…more…"

Mariku was vocal. There was nothing in his nature that enabled him to beg. However, he was a master of encouragement.

"…harder…"

"…faster…"

"…more…"

"…TOUZOUKO…"

Theirs' was a union completely lacking in refinement. The act itself was rough, rendered clumsy by their eagerness. It could have been that the thief entered before the blonde was ready, and there was a possibility that Mariku's nails dug with too much force into his partner's back. However, Touzouko was still attractive, and Marik at least knew how to please, so the sex perhaps was not so ugly and maybe the phrase 'rutting like animals' was not as accurate as one might think.

When it was over they lay on the floor together. Mariku allowed Touzouko to splay a hand across his chest, himself content to nestle his head in the crook of the other's armpit. Neither spoke. Instead, each left the other to his private musings.

One was stuck in the past. He remembered another pair of arms upon him and a far more tempestuous gaze challenging his own.

The other disliked thinking about the past. He was a thief hiding in a broken city, so what had been was always around him. Instead, he preferred the present, and all the present told him was that the apparition at his side was more thrilling and deadly than any pilfered gold.

* * *

The sky was dark, but in the east a sliver of color was beginning to rise above the sand dunes. Malik, Ryou, and Bakura had been riding for hours, and would undoubtedly have ridden for hours more had their horses not needed rest. Because of this they made camp near a small oasis and settled down to await the dawn.

"Malik?"

"Mmm?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Ryou blushed as the blonde rolled over groggily to face him. "I-I didn't realize you were sleeping."

"…'s okay…wasn't…"

"Wasn't what?"

"…sleeping…" Malik sat up and stretched, stifling a yawn as he did so. He pulled in his cloak tight against the morning's desert chill before turning to face the paler boy. "What's on your mind?"

"I don't know…nothing, really." Ryou stared at the immobile figure of his brother who, after composing a letter to General Mahaado to be sent off at the next village, had promptly fallen asleep. "Are you afraid to see him?"

"To see my brother, you mean? Yes, a-actually…I'm terrified."

Without thinking, Ryou pulled the blonde into an increasingly familiar hug. He couldn't help it; Loving Malik came so naturally to him. "I wish my brother never met Marik! Then it could just be me and you and…"

Malik words were so quiet, so tentative, that Ryou barely caught them. "…and what?"

"…and you wouldn't have to hate my family for what they've done to yours. We could be friends."

And Malik sighed because that is what he wished for as well. However, some things were meant to be and some things were not meant to be and being friends was just one of those things that couldn't happen.

"Don't worry, Ryou. That doesn't mean I don't…" He allowed his grip around the little noble's waist to tighten. "That doesn't mean I don't like you. If anything…"

Malik was rendered speechless as a pair of softer lips met his own.

They didn't pay attention to how long they kissed or how passionately or even in what proximity to the slumbering Lord of Baranis. Their thoughts were only for each other. Ryou was struck by the tenderness of Malik's fingers as they brushed his thighs and the nape of his neck. The blonde, on the other hand, was caught up in the younger's hair, soft and smelling sweetly of bath oils. Both found they liked the other's kiss, and neither for the briefest instant entertained thoughts of breaking away.

"Maybe we can't be friends…"

Somehow Malik found the air to speak, absorbed though he was with nibbling the soft skin of Ryou's throat.

"…but even if we can't…"

Ryou trailed his fingers gently over the sensitive markings on the other's back. This forced Malik to suppress a particularly fervent moan.

"…we can at least be something."

Dawn was in full force, and Akefia Bakura began to wake. The boys were split as suddenly as they had been united, and Malik rose to prepare the horses.

"It's getting late. You should have woken me sooner."

Ryou could not meet Akefia's gaze. However, he did take the piece of bread he offered. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter. We'll be there in two days all the same. "Hey, Malik!" He looked over to the tannest of the three.

"Yes?"

The Lord of Baranis didn't answer. Instead, he chucked another piece of bread at him and stood to collect their things. "We should reach the ghost village of Kul Elna by sundown. We can stay there for the night, then…"

Neither Ryou nor Malik was listening. They were there was still some darkness. It hid their swollen lips and the flush still fresh upon their cheeks.

* * *

Somewhere across the desert, two more weary souls stood in the doorway of their hut. Their passion from the previous evening had played itself out, and they enjoyed each other's company in relative silence.

Marik allowed himself to lean against Touzouko, who, wrapped up in the sunrise spilling over the walls of the ruined buildings, ran his hands absently through the other's tangled hair.

Only when the sun had fully risen did the thief allow himself to speak.

"I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Did Anubis ever speak of a man named Akunadin?"

"No." Mariku remained unfazed by a question concerning his former master. It was only in sleep that he feared what could no longer bring him harm. "He didn't, but I have heard that name before. I think he's one of the Pharaoh's generals."

Touzouko nodded, suspicions confirmed. "And what about the name Akefia Bakura? Does that mean anything to you?"

The sun was above Kul Elna's walls now, hot from its ascension. But the King of Thieves took no heed of this. He was too startled by the emotion welling in Mariku's eyes.

* * *

**-TOT** (Sorry it took me so long to update. I've been struggling with a mixture of writer's block, laziness, and a busy schedule. I haven't been able to read any updated fics either, but I'm going to get right on that. I quite like this chapter. As always, I adore writing scenes involving Marik and Touzouko, and Ryou and Malik finally got some action as well! I tried to cut back on some of my descriptiveness. I know I can go a bit overboard, and I don't want it to detract from the story. I can't wait to know what readers think.)

Please review.


	11. Absense of Cruelty

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 11: Absence of Cruelty**

* * *

A temporary peace had been called between the armies of Mahaado and General Atemu. They had been fighting off and on for nearly a fortnight, and neither was making any headway. Because of this, Atemu delivered a message to the Pharaoh's former servant requesting a meeting. He hoped to convince him to abandon Bakura.

"General Atemu, the enemy has just entered camp."

From where he sat resting beneath his tent, the short man nodded to the guard. "Let him in. After that, you may leave us unsupervised."

"My lord, do you not fear…"

Atemu laughed. "I fear nothing."

Soon the guard was gone, and in his place stood Mahaado. The man seemed to have aged beyond his years. His face was more lined than Atemu remembered. His blue eyes spoke of a fatigue that had little to do with physical exhaustion.

"It's been awhile." The taller of the two bobbed his head in greetings. "You seem to be doing well for yourself."

"Well enough, I suppose."

For a minute there was silence, and the magnitude of their situation began to take hold. They had been friends once, allies, lovers of the same principles. Together they had fought, and together they had watched their comrades perish. And now, for three year they had waged war against each other. Atemu remembered well the day he heard of Mahaado's desertion. The brunette made no formal announcement. He did not even say goodbye. He left for Baranis as a migratory bird leaves for the equator, drawn by something both deep within and beyond himself.

"This battle is going nowhere." Atemu surprised himself with the coldness of his voice. "I won't waste time asking you to surrender, but surely we must work out some kind of armistice."

Mahaado smiled wanly. "With all due respect, Atemu, I do not see how that is possible. On my honor I cannot allow you to pass on into Abydos, and on yours you cannot return to Alexandria without having done so. So you see our struggle really is ridiculous."

Atemu was struck by the disparity of the other's words. He had known Mahaado since childhood, and never once had he seen him so despondent. "Tell me, what cruelty has Bakura inflicted that makes you turn from hope?"

The former general of the Pharaoh smiled. "Cruelty, you say? No, my friend, it is the absence of cruelty that is the problem."

Atemu balked. "You're saying Bakura is kind?"

"Kind is not the right word. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I can relate to him. You see, Bakura has done terrible things in the name of justice."

"And?"

"So have I," Mahaado murmured. "We both have. Though we fight on opposing sides, our motives are the same. We fight in the name of Egypt, and lately I find myself wondering just what that means."

"…this isn't like you, Mahaado."

The brunette laughed, a sound neither joyous nor bitter but filled with the same abject exhaustion found in the depths of his gaze. "All my life I have loved Egypt, but the government in Alexandria is a farce. ………. is no Pharaoh. He's just a halfwit installed until someone intelligent and infinitely more dangerous comes to take his place. I fight in the name of an ideal Egypt exempt of foreign rule, an Egypt that the kings of old set down for us."

Atemu sighed. He understood all to well the other's sentiments. "The kings of old are just that, Mahaado. Old. I know what you desire, but the Egypt of our ancestors is dead. You're fighting in the name of a fading specter."

"…perhaps you are right." For a moment the color of Mahaado's eyes seemed to fade and go grey like the sandy wastes around them. "But even if my fight is doomed, I will continue. You see, I cannot…"

"And what of Seto? Would you so gladly sacrifice his life to the rebels for such an unattainable goal?"

For a moment Mahaado said nothing. He seemed to shrink somehow, to age before Atemu's eyes. "I'm sorry, my friend, but Seto of Abydos became my enemy the instant I crossed to Bakura's side. As did you and all those who back the stinking filth that fills the government seats of Alexandria. Nothing can be gained by this meeting, Atemu. In the future I must ask you not to waste my time."

Mahaado was gone with a swish of the tent flap, and Atemu, general of the Pharaoh's army, was left wondering how a plight so hopeless could affect him so profoundly.

* * *

_It had been four nights since the capture of the golden-haired thief, and Bakura still didn't know quite what to do with him. Mariku had been tied to one of the tent posts the entire time, wounds swathed in grubby bandages and with just enough water to go on living._

_Food, though. He hadn't eaten in days._

_The lord of Baranis watched from his bed as his captive drowsed fitfully. Even in such a state of filth and infirmity, Marik couldn't seem but help being beautiful. The scars on his back were the blonde's only flaws—not counting his impertinent personality. But about his punishment? What sort of retribution befitted a murderer and a thief?_

"_If you're going to kill me, I must ask that you do it soon. I don't know about you, but I find being tied up in your bedroom to be rather dull."_

_Bakura's head snapped up, and he found himself glaring into a pair of spiteful, purple eyes. "The more you beg for death, Mariku, the longer I will take to kill you."_

_The blonde laughed and stretched his uninjured leg. "So you tell me, but I have yet to see evidence of your cruelty. Could it be that Akefia Bakura, Lord of Baranis, is not so dangerous as he seems?"_

_The paler of the two bit back his anger with a sneer. "Want to test that theory, do you?" Enraged grin still plastered on his face, Bakura cut Mariku from the post and hauled him to his feet. He used the tail ends of the rope like a halter, dragging the other by his still bound hands out of the tent and through the rebel campsite. The soldiers leered at the blonde as he passed. It seemed their master had finally decided upon an appropriate punishment._

_Bakura didn't stop until they were far from camp, out above the sand and beneath the stars where they wouldn't be interrupted. "You mock the depth of my cruelty, Marik, but before this night is through I'll have you screaming for death." _

_The blonde grunted as he was forced to his knees. He looked good like this, skin taunt from dehydration, body shivering with hunger and the chill of midnight. Bakura would take so much pleasure in breaking him, in hearing that rough voice crack and watching as those heartless eyes welled with tears. _

"_You're pretty ugly, you know that? All those hideous scars…" Bakura dug his nails into the dead tissue of his captive's back, pleased as his actions invoked in the blonde an involuntary shudder._

"_Ugly, huh?" Marik's voice betrayed none of his discomfort. "Is that what you think about each night when you stare at my naked body?"_

_Bakura snarled and dug his nails in further, forcing the other down until his cheek brushed against the dirt. "Would you like to know what I'm going to do to you, Marik? Tonight, I'm going to rape you. I'm going to fuck you until you bleed. Then, I'm going to tie you up outside beneath the sun so all my men will know you for the whore you are." The Lord of Baranis paused to lick Marik's blood that had collected beneath his fingernails. "Do you understand, boy? I'm going to destroy you."_

"_Destroy me?" Marik's body shook, but the steel of his voice was unrelenting. "I'll take that as a challenge."_

_They struggled fiercely. Bakura didn't expect the blonde to deliver, but he put up a hell of a fight. It was only when the paler of the two brought out that devious Damascus blade and held it tight to his throat that Mariku ceased his movement and gave Bakura the chance he needed. Using one hand to keep the knife pressed flush against his captive's neck, he allowed the other to wander, examining the expanse of Mariku's flesh with the touch of a horse trader. _

"_This is proving to be fun."_

_Marik didn't reply, but Bakura imagined he heard a whimper as he shoved a finger up between his thighs. He curled the appendage just right, and, with a startled grunt, the blonde pitched forward into the sand. Bakura began to laugh. "Never been on the receiving end, eh?"_

_Marik tried to break free but found himself trapped between a blade at his throat and the paler's fingers setting off embarrassing sensations in the cavity of his stomach. His body twitched. Sweat lent an amber sheen to his skin as he continued to struggle. However, the Damascus blade was not letting up, and neither were Bakura's fingers. The blonde was getting tired. He was injured and starving and there was only so much more that he could…_

_The blonde greeted Bakura's entry not with a scream, but with a sharp intake of breath. Agony wasn't the problem. It was the shame he found harder to dispel. However, Marik managed to do it. He was a creature of hatred, and this hatred left no room for embarrassment. With a colossal will he ignored humiliation and focused all of his bitterness on destroying Bakura._

_The paler man wasted little time in setting a cruel rhythm. Mariku was ill-prepared, and performing the act was extremely difficult. Everything was dry and with too much friction, and the only pleasure Bakura gleaned from it was the knowledge that the blonde was twenty times more uncomfortable that he was. The awareness of the other's agony was enough to keep him hard for ages._

_When all was said and done, the lord of Baranis rested. He reclined against a boulder, watching the immobile figure of Marik Ishtar lying silent in the dirt. The blood-stained sand beneath him was black in the impersonal starlight._

"_Don't think this is the end of your punishment, boy. Scum like you has no right to mercy."_

_The blonde did not reply, but Bakura could tell by the tension in the air that he was very much awake. "Didn't you hear me, little Marik?" He strode across the sands, toothy leer splayed across his face. He pulled the blonde up by his hair, allowing the rest of him to hang there brokenly. "Face me!"_

_And Marik did just that. He turned to face him and on his lips was a grin every bit as lewd and twisted as Bakura's. It was in this gesture that the lord of Baranis realized his depravity had been matched. Marik was no peasant, no little thief unlucky enough to steal from a rebel chief. He was a monster, already too broken to be destroyed. In the face of pain, in the face of humiliation and death, he was smiling, and Akefia was left trembling with something he did not fully understand._

* * *

Bakura stared blankly into the sand ahead of him. Why did his mind insist on remembering such things? He was in a situation in which it was perilous to become distracted, but as they neared Anubis' hidden city distractions were becoming more and more a nuisance.

"Malik! Ryou! I want to reach Kul Elna before dusk."

There was no reply, but Akefia could hear the soft, sandy clopping of the others' horses, lagging a sand dune behind. He thought little of it. Neither Malik nor Ryou was a soldier. It made sense that they should be weary by this time. Still, they had to get going. The Sahara was even deadlier at nightfall.

"Didn't you hear me? I said…" But words withered on Bakura's lips as Kul Elna's jagged remnants flickered into view on the horizon. Even at a distance it reeked of death, and though Marik had convinced Bakura long ago that there were no such things as spirits the hair on his arms prickled out of habit.

"Is that it?" Ryou was beside him suddenly, gritty with sand and flushed with what Bakura presumed to be sunlight. "It certainly doesn't appear very hospitable."

"Ryou, I think that's the point." Malik, also blushing from the desert's heat, studied the still distant ruin. "They say it's haunted, huh?"

Bakura snorted. "The only haunts in this world worth fearing are all too mortal."

"…you sound like my brother…"

Silence. Hotter and more oppressive than the desert sun. The things they didn't say.

_I will always hate you for what you did to him._

_I don't sound like Marik. I'm quoting him._

They continued on to the broken city of Kul Elna in silence. The air was quiet, the desert stained purple with approaching dusk. In this state of unreality Bakura felt nothing could surprise him. Not even a white-haired horseman hidden in a ruby cloak.

"Halt." The lord of Baranis said this with none of his usual authority. "Who are you?"

Hoary eyes peered out from beneath masses of unruly bangs. They studied the travelers scrupulously, but with an air of impersonality that may or may not have been deceptive. Bakura was unnerved by the stranger's eyes. They were unreadable…and gray was much too close to violet.

"My name is Touzouko. You must be Akefia of Baranis."

"Akefia _lord_ of Baranis. And you? Do you have a title?"

The man smiled strangely, gaze finding neither Malik nor Ryou but boring relentlessly into Bakura. "There are God Kings and Rebel Kings, but I am neither. Call me Thief King if you call me anything." Without another word the Thief King turned and led them towards his haunted village.

They met Mariku standing at the ruin outskirts. He wore a dirty linen cloak with gold trim that matched his hair. His body looked sick, his eyes feverish in their brilliance.

Malik cried out. Even Ryou gasped a little, but Bakura stayed silent. He had not anticipated Marik's resurgence, but he wasn't surprised by it. Like magnets, it was inevitable that they be drawn together.

"Brother…" The word passed Malik's lips in an agonized moan of oxygen.

Marik didn't reply, but his gaze swiveled sharply and for a moment his face slipped from anger into absolute astonishment. He opened his mouth, shrunk back in a way that was almost apologetic, then got a hold of himself and addressed his younger brother.

"I didn't expect to see you again, Malik."

"I…for a long time I thought you were…then…" The younger blonde gestured hopelessly and laughed. "You look like shit! I mean…Anubis, what did he…"

"Anubis is what I want to talk about. My friend Touzouko has information you may find important."

Mariku lingered on the word friend, but gazed fixedly at Bakura.

"He's plotting an ambush." The Thief King spoke without interest, almost lazily. "I don't know why, and I don't know the details of his plan, but Anubis and a man named Akunadin are planning to betray you."

"Akunadin?" the lord of Baranis choked out. "How is that possible? He's loyal to the Pharaoh!"

"Loyalties fade, Akefia." A toothy grin illuminated the hollows of Marik's cheekbones. "You should know that."

With a hope that defied his resignation Bakura searched Mariku's eyes. In them there was no forgiveness.

* * *

They followed Marik and his thieving companion in silence. Ryou and Bakura kept their feelings checked, but Malik's emotions had exploded confusedly onto his face. He was excited, nervous, pissed off, relieved, and ultimately horrified because his brother looked so much worse than he'd ever imagined. Marik wasn't just hurt; he wasn't just banged up and in need of food and a good night's sleep. There was something permanent in his physical damage, something that leeched into the listlessness of his speech and the too-deep rattle of his cough.

_Brother, you're scaring me_.

This thought had materialized a thousand times before, but never in this context. Malik was no longer afraid of his brother's strength, of his mad temper or the stifling intensity of his gaze. Rather, he was afraid of Marik's fragility…and the way he leered at Bakura's with the ferocity of a wounded predator.

"It isn't far now." Touzouko remained unaffected by their surroundings. He spoke of Kul Elna as though it were alive and well and not a place shrouded in death.

"Why do you live here?" Ryou's neck swiveled incessantly. His eyes were wide and unnervingly curious. "It's so dismal."

The Thief King merely shrugged. "Kul Elna is my home."

There was nothing in Touzouko's voice that suggested he was offended, but no one pushed the subject. They didn't have to. The thief obliged without reluctance. "Bandits once used Kul Elna as a place to hide from the authorities. Then, about fifteen years ago, one of the Pharaoh's generals discovered it. He had the village burned and slew all of its occupants."

"And what about you?" Ryou furrowed his brows worriedly. "How did you come to live here?"

The Thief King grinned, betraying for an instant a slightly morbid sense of humor. "I told you, kid. Kul Elna is my home."

"Come off it, Touzouko. He gets it. You survived the attack on Kul Elna. No need to rub your glory in our faces."

"Your insight into the workings of the human mind amazes me, Mariku. Though I'm not sure one of such stable and sunny disposition as yourself can fully appreciate the darker things in life." The thief mimicked perfectly the blonde's snide playfulness. He kept smiling and looked a little bit hurt.

"Your sarcastic wit astounds me."

"Likewise, I find your cruelty inconceivable."

They laughed like broken men, people who understood each other. Malik was struck by this. He had never heard Mariku laugh this way.

Nor had Bakura.

There is perhaps one difference between the love of a sibling and that of a lover. One laments the beauty that has died. The other is so blinded by the memory of this beauty that he will deceive himself completely.

And so it was that Malik looked at Mariku and was horrified by his weakness. Bakura on the other hand saw no weakness. Mariku was as beautiful to him now as he had ever been. Each possessed a separate truth, a customized torture that would become more potent as time went on.

Mariku either did not see this or was too much of a beast to care.

* * *

From the ramparts of Anubis' fortress, Akunadin watched the sun descend. The sky melted in a cloudless sheet from blue to red, and he found himself wondering at the beauty of such a heartless world. _One day, Seto…_

It had been six years since he had seen his son. Akunadin did not fool himself into believing the adolescent boy he remembered was the same person as the High Priest of Abydos. Still, if he could see him once before he died—if only to remember what he himself was fighting for—Akunadin might pass on without regret.

'_As long as our paths are parallel we fight together.'_

'_And when they cross…'_

'_That depends, Akunadin, on the interests of the victor.'_

But what Anubis would never understand, what he would never even come close to touching, was the fact that, no matter how inconceivable, how unexpected or blatantly wrong it sounded, Akunadin would win. He would win because he wasn't fighting out of greed. Well, it was greed in a sense, but a selfless greed…the desire to see the only person in the world he loved achieve the greatness that was meant for him.

_Seto, when you become Pharaoh we can put all of this behind us._

With all his heart Akunadin wanted this.To see his son cast off the rottenness that had taken Egypt and restore it to its former glories. It would happen. He didn't care who he had to kill, which vows he had to break. Still, in the pit of his stomach, Akunadin was worried…

What if Anubis had guessed his plans? Though he had yet to be found out as a traitor, Akunadin was too far from Alexandria to receive any reports of the Rebel King's other actions. For all he knew Seto was dead! However, if that was the case certainly he would have heard something. No. It was best not to dwell on the worst that could happen. When the time came, he would kill Anubis and instill his sun as Egypt's ruler. He didn't bother himself with the morality of such an act or even the reasoning behind it. All he knew was that he had wasted his life catering to the whims of the Pharaoh, and that his son would suffer no such fate.

* * *

"High Priest Seto! The slave boy has returned!"

Said man looked up slowly from the stack of papers on his desk. For a moment his blue eyes seemed clouded, lost in the corridors of his most private thoughts. Then reality came to him, and Seto's gaze began to clear.

"Bring him to me."

The servant nodded and bowed, backing out of his master's study as quickly as possible. Despite the siege, Seto was maintaining good control over the people of Abydos. So far he had managed to ward off the internal chaos that threatened to take the city. However, the High Priest was growing weary. It showed in the pinched expression on his face and the short temper he had taken to unleashing on his subordinates.

Seto waited nervously for Jounouchi's arrival. _If he did not find my father Abydos will fall within days._ The priest passed back and forth by the window but did not look out. He knew what he would see.

_Enemy troops as far as the eye can see_._ Walls both protecting and trapping thousands of civilians._

Muffled footsteps in the hallway, and Seto's stomach gave a nasty spasm. _If Jounouchi has failed…_

"Here he is, Priest Seto. A little the worse for ware but still alive." Two soldiers entered. Jounouchi was supported between them. His body was bloodied and thin, lips cracked and eyes glassy from exhaustion.

"…hey boss…" Letting go of the others' soldiers, the blonde sunk helplessly to the floor. "Wouldn't happen to have some water, eh?"

"Here." Waving a hand to dismiss his soldiers, Seto offered the boy a goblet.

Jounouchi seemed to perk up a bit as he peered into the gilt chalice and took a sip. "Wine, eh?" But his good humor only went so far. Seto recognized in the slave's demeanor something that was deeply troubling.

"You failed to find Akunadin."

"No." Jounouchi shook his head. "That isn't it."

"Then where…"

"He betrayed you!" Jounouchi's eyes met those of his master, and even Seto was touched by the outrage he saw in them. "I saw him talking with Anubis! They were planning a murder!"

The High Priest words came out pinched. His head was spinning. "…my murder?"

"Not you. Some guy named Bakura. Still, it proves…"

"Bakura!" Seto's world lurched violently into focus. His father had betrayed him. This was a truth not worth dwelling on. Doing so would only increase his chances of becoming emotionally driven, and the High Priest knew better than most that emotions led to failure. Seto could do nothing to retract Akunadin's betrayal. However, he could use it to his advantage.

"Bakura, did you say? Until this point he has been Anubis' greatest ally. However, if we warn him of the betrayal…"

"What do you mean warn him? Let the enemy crumble from within. That's what I say!"

"No." Seto shook his head. "It'll take too long. By the time their little rebellion breaks apart, Abydos will be taken. We need an ally now."

"What about the reinforcements coming from Alexandria? Aren't…"

"Alexandria isn't coming. That fact is painfully clear to me. We have nowhere else to turn!" The priest slumped, exhausted, against the wall. "It must be Bakura."

"But your father! Certainly he won't actually…"

Seto snorted, and his fleeting exhibition of weakness was gone. "You don't think he'll betray me?" Slowly, the High Priest straightened until he was his usual formidable self. "Even if it were true, I would not risk my city on the fickleness of a father's love. I will fight Akunadin as I fight all those who go against the Pharaoh."

As Seto said this, the last vestige of weariness left him, and Jounouchi was left gazing at a statuette, motionless and with eyes so clear and bright he wondered if they saw at all.

* * *

-**TOT**

**Please Review.**


	12. Very Much in Love

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 12: **_Very Much in Love_

* * *

"I should have looked for you."

"Why? You thought I was dead."

"Because you're my brother."

"You know, Malik, that's a pretty stupid answer."

The brothers sat on an outcropping overlooking Kul Elna. It was midmorning. In an hour the heat would be unbearable. Malik studied his brother from the corner of his eye. He was only now escaping his state of absolute shock at seeing him again. At the moment, Mariku's gaze was quiet. It was as if the volatility of his nature was becoming too much to maintain. He needed a break, a moment of repose in which he could stop fighting and just exist. Hate was, after all, exhausting.

"What are you going to do about Bakura? After…after what…"

"Malik." Marik spoke this as a command, a warning that, even if they were brothers, he shouldn't probe too deep. "Have you had sex with him?"

"What?!" Malik stared at his brother in disbelief. Marik wasn't interested in what had happened in the months they'd spent apart. He didn't care to learn how Malik had been enslaved or even how he'd ended up in Baranis at all! All Mariku cared about was whether or not he'd fucked his former master. "Why do you ca re? I thought you hated Bakura."

"I'm afraid there's a lot about hatred you will never understand."

"I'm afraid there's a lot about loving people you will never understand!"

Marik laughed at this, pulling back his lips so that his mouth seemed wide and toothy in the midst of his emaciated face. Malik should have been angered by this, but he just couldn't find it in him. That laughter was something from Marik's childhood, something unlovely and harsh but worth holding on to.

"You always did say stupid things." Mariku's laughter tapered off abruptly. "I've missed it a little."

"A little, huh?" Malik smiled. "I've missed…Marik, what's wrong?"

The wild-haired blonde shook his head and clawed desperately at his chest. He groaned between coughs, body doubled over in agony. Malik watched helplessly as he continued to wretch. He'd never seen his brother like this. Never seen him so thin and so scarred and so horrifyingly ill. Without thinking, he threw his arms around the other male, pressing his face against the back of his neck as his body continued to jerk and shudder.

"Shh…shh…don't worry. Breathe, Marik. Just…just breathe."

With a final hack, Mariku stopped shaking and collapsed breathlessly against his younger sibling. He sucked in air with great, gasping breaths, blood-flecked teeth standing out white against his thin, puce-colored lips.

"Fuck, Marik! What the hell wa…"

That's when Malik saw it. Something red and viscous splattered on the rocks at their feet.

"What is that?"

But Malik already knew. He'd seen sickness like this while enslaved at the work camp. A disease that held on tightly, that drew out deaths that lasted months and caused the sick to quite literally hack up pieces of themselves.

_He's dying_.

The irony was inescapable. For so long he had thought Marik to be dead, and now that he knew he wasn't…

"When did this start?"

A funny smile came to Marik's lips. It was too filled with irony to be bitter. "It was Anubis. I don't think he's as…as far along, but…"

…_Anubis…_

Never until this moment had Malik understood the true meaning of hatred. The feeling lodged deep in his gut, something too sulfurous to be nausea, consuming him. He hadn't thought it possible. To loath a man so completely without even the knowledge of his face. But Malik wasn't worried. When he saw Anubis, he would know.

"What are you thinking, little brother? Going to take my revenge away from me?"

"Marik, don't…it isn't funny…"

Something between a sob and a reprimand lodged itself in Malik's throat as he tightened his arms desperately around his elder brother. Didn't Marik get it? How could he joke about his own life like this? He was dying, and…and…Malik loved him so much. It was ridiculous really, to love someone as astringent and cold as Mariku. But he did, and with a love that encompassed all spectrums. Platonic, filial, romantic—no word could describe it. It leaked beyond all fetters of comprehension, of vocalization, of anything that could be named or classified. What Malik felt for his brother was love. That was as far as he could explain it.

"Malik, let go." Marik tried half-heartedly to pull away, but stopped almost as he began. What his brother was doing…there was no sense in it. Still, after so many months apart he supposed it was alright to allow a few of the boy's idiocies.

By now the cruel Saharan sun had reached its zenith. It caused their bodies to perspire and Marik's blood to sizzle on the rocks.

* * *

_The following morning, Bakura fulfilled his second promise._

_The lord of Baranis had listened from his tent as, between bouts of raucous laughter, his soldiers tormented the blond thief. True to his word, he had left Marik bound outside his tent._

_And the blonde had been beaten quite severely. Casually, as if to prove to himself that he didn't give a shit, Bakura stepped out of his tent to view the wreckage that was Marik. He was no longer tied to the post. Instead, the blonde lay splayed out in the dirt, either ignoring or completely unaware of the few men still taunting him from a distance. His wounds had been reopened and, accompanied with several new, more intimate injuries, were leaking all over the sand. Something about such vulnerability made Bakura shudder as the initial rape never had. Despite his injury, despite his decrepit state of healt, and the fact that he was moments from passing out, Mariku wasn't about to truly surrender. There was nothing in his physical demeanor to suggest this. However, the lord of Baranis knew it as surely as he knew himself._

_And that's what truly bothered him—in everything, from their nefarious smirks to their volatile temperaments, the two were painfully similar._

_Maybe Akefia was a narcissist. Maybe he was just plain perverted. But for whatever reason, he couldn't shake the deep attraction he felt for the blonde. It wasn't until after it was too late that Bakura would recognize this attraction for what it was. However, that he wanted Mariku kept alive, the young lord knew for certain._

"_You there!" He motioned to two soldiers loitering near his tent. "Bring in the murderer. I'm not finished with him yet."_

_The men did so with a great deal of scrambling and cursing and left Bakura with an immobile Marik lying at his feet._

"_How does it feel, little Marik, finally paying for your crimes?"_

_The blonde didn't reply. He didn't even lift his head in acknowledgement. However, his exhausted, half-lidded eyes swiveled slowly to fixate on Bakura._

"_No words, eh?" The noble laughed softly and sank down to kneel beside the blonde. "I must say, you look like absolute shit."_

_No response, but a flickering in the captive's gaze told him what he already knew. Marik was far from true submission. And as he gazed upon the abused state of the blonde's body, Bakura realized that he understood why such defiance was possible. There were certain people in the world who just weren't meant to give up, who were cursed with too much pride or valor or sheer malevolence to just shut up go down quietly. They could live forever without repair, moving along broken down and full of holes but moving along nonetheless. _

_Bakura allowed his eyes to traverse the peaks and valleys of Marik's naked body. He wondered at each cut and scrape, at the flex of his chest muscles as he breathed, at the pale, rigid scarring that stood out so prominently on his back. The more he stared, the more he wanted to touch, and before he knew it, Bakura found himself exploring that naked body with his hands. Scars, face, legs, hair. The miraculously uninfected wound on the back of his thigh. The saddle-shaped sweep between his ribs and hip bone. And as he did this, the lord's emotions slipped from hate into something less definable, and his own body became prey to something harder to ignore._

"_We're going to try this again, Marik. Do you want it?"_

_The blonde's eyes shined unsteadily, but as Bakura's hand reached down to caress him more intimately, he did not resist. Whether this was out of desire or unbearable exhaustion, Bakura didn't care. _

_His lack of refusal was all the acquiescence he needed._

* * *

Bakura often wondered why Marik hadn't hated him for that. Perhaps it was for the same reason he didn't hate the blonde for stealing the knife. They understood each other's motives all too well. Monster to monster. That is until Bakura betrayed Marik, and Marik, utilizing the one human emotion he understood best, began to despise him. Now Akefia didn't know what he understood. What is understanding anyway but the preconceived notion that one is always right?

He didn't know. He didn't care. He just…he just wanted to stop thinking. In order to silence his overbearing consciousness, Bakura focused on where he was going. He'd started wandering the ruins of Kul Elna early in the morning, too much of a coward to face Mariku and too much of a bastard to face anyone else. He was hopelessly lost now. Every ruin was the same. Dusty. Impersonal. He found it hard to believe anyone had lived here at all.

"It isn't much to look at, I'll admit."

Bakura whirled around sharply. It was rare that anyone could come up to him without his knowing. Such a person would have to be as silent as…

Touzouko emerged silently from beneath the shadow of one of the buildings. He gave Bakura a smile that was every bit as impersonal as the surrounding ruins. "Your brother's back in the hut resting. I don't know what happened to Marik and that other boy. They went off somewhere."

Bakura nodded, ignoring the outrageous jealousy gnawing at his stomach. What did he care if Mariku was with Malik? They were brothers, after all. What they did together was none of his concern. However, Touzouko was a different matter.

"Just how did you come by Marik, anyway?"

The thief shrugged. "The way I come across everything. Unlawfully and in the middle of the night."

"You managed to steal him away from Anubis, then. He'll certainly have it out for you by now."

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Anubis must think we're working together. That's why he wants to kill you."

Bakura nodded. "I'd already thought of that." Somehow, he had to get word to Mahaado. It was imperative that the siege on Abydos be abandoned as soon as possible. He couldn't risk in aiding Anubis any longer.

"He talks about you sometimes."

"W-what?" The randomness of the thief's statement caught Bakura off guard, and his apathy began to falter. "Who talks about me?"

"Marik. He told me you were his friend. Also that he was going to kill you. Interesting man, though I'm sure you already know that."

"Kill me?" Bakura wasn't exactly surprised. Still, it hurt somehow. "He must truly hate me, then."

"Yes…no. It's more complicated than that."

Bakura gave the Thief King a hard look. "And what about you, Touzouko? What do you think of Mariku?"

"What do I think?" The bandit's aloof smile began to fade, and for a moment he looked very thoughtful. "I…I think he's dangerous, dangerous and too smart for his own good. He holds grudges and is good at sex and…"

"And _what?_"

"…and I think you should be careful because he is still very much in love with you."

For a moment Akefia couldn't speak. Of all the strange things to say… "…you do realize how…how incredibly stupid that sounds…don't you?"

Touzouko merely shook his head. "All I'm saying is that there is something about this world that makes people hurt the ones they love. You'd do best to watch yourself."

"Honestly, what the fuck are you…"

Two figures were approaching, so similar in appearance they could be reflections of each other. Tan skin. Gold hair. Deep, purple eyes. It was hard to believe such creatures could be so profoundly different.

"Are we interrupting something?" Marik didn't even look at Bakura. Instead, he walked up to Touzouko, pressing lightly against him. "Perhaps, we should leave you to get to know each other."

"That shouldn't be necessary." Touzouko allowed his hand to graze the frailer man's hip. "I think we're pretty much done here. Am I right, Akefia?"

Bakura said nothing. He didn't need to. Already, the Thief King was slinking away, arm in arm with perhaps the most impressive thing he'd ever stolen. Once again, Bakura was struck by the familiarity they had for each other. A basic understanding that, though tinged with lust, had little to do with romance. Bakura actually envied the thief more for this, for he, himself, had never understood Marik so completely.

"Don't look so pissed. You're playing right into his hands." Malik didn't look so cheerful, himself. Actually, he appeared to be rather sick.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?"

The blonde ignored his companion's ill-tempered remark. "I…I can't say that loving him is worth it. He's not a good person, but I…I …"

"Shut up." Grabbing him by the shoulders, Bakura slammed Malik against one of Kul Elna's ruined buildings. He wanted to hear no more of Mariku. No more of his cruelty or his grudges or his potent, venomous love. If only he could relive the past! When he had held that smoldering creature in his arms and almost thought he loved him back.

* * *

"Bakura, let go of me." Nothing happened, and Malik gave the lord a quizzical look. He gave an experimental push off the wall, but Akefia, much too close for comfort, refused to let him budge. "Hey! What are you…"

Bakura's eyes moved slowly across the blonde's body. It felt strange, as if he were being looked at without really being seen. Malik had been in this situation before. He knew what the lord of Baranis desired, what he longed for more than anything in the world.

"I will never be what you want."

"I know that." A small grin found its way to the paler's lips. It was the first time Malik had ever seen him truly smile. "But you can't blame me for wishful thinking." Bakura closed the gap still struggling for life between them and kissed the blonde lightly on the lips.

And this time Malik wasn't angry or terrified. He just felt pity.

"No." He pulled away firmly, causing Bakura to growl in annoyance. "This isn't…"

The lord of Baranis silenced him with another kiss, this time irate and more powerful than before. _Wrong…this…this is so wrong_. All Malik could think of was the love he felt for Ryou, the love Bakura felt for his brother. Something like that could not be replicated. Why did the white-haired nobleman insist on fooling himself?

"…I'm not Marik…"

Slowly—as if breaking from a trance—Bakura pulled away. The uttering of Mariku's name had pulled him back, and Malik saw that he was no longer deceiving himself.

"You hate me almost as much as he does." Bakura's words held an air of affected detachment.

"No. I pity you. Is that much worse?"

Bakura laughed loudly, frightening a pair of lizards that lurked in the nearby shade. "Pity me?" He said nothing beyond this but continued to chortle until Malik thought he was going completely insane.

"Bakura?! What are you…what is that?"

Something dark and man-like flickered on the horizon. It approached uncertainly, as mirages are wont to do, but something in its presence crawled up Malik's spine, and he knew that it was real.

"He looks like some kind of messenger."

* * *

"You're acting like a child. I can't believe it."

"_Can't_ you?"

Touzouko rolled his eyes at the blonde's caustic reply. They had taken refuge from the sun in an abandoned hut, but the Thief King was still subject to Mariku's angry rays. "You're trying to make him jealous. Like a pubescent girl."

"I don't care." The words would have been more humorous without the frigid hatred lacing them. Marik glared avidly at his bony fingers. He looked flushed.

"Do you feel alright?"

The blonde snorted noncommittally. "Malik says I'm dying."

"…I thought you held no fear of death."

"I don't. I'm afraid of living, remember?"

Marik laughed at his own joke. Touzouko did not. As usual, Marik's laughter led to hacking, and the Thief King held him as he spit up blood all over their clothing. When he had finished, the blonde turned to him.

"If I wasn't such a selfish bastard, I'd tell you to get away from me. This shit spreads."

"I'll take my chances."

He tried to wipe the blood from the other's lip, only to have it slapped hastily away. Marik glared at him tiredly. "You're really stupid, you know that? I'm not even in love with you."

Touzouko chuckled. "Of course you're not in love with me. I'd be worried if you were."

"You what?"

"Ah, never mind. Anyway, we should be getting back. I don't trust that angry friend of yours alone in my house."

With that they set off, and even if Mariku didn't love him, Touzouko had no problem walking slower so his weakened body could keep up. They ambled up the abandoned street. One was upright and strong, with dirty hair and gray eyes and a face that, though scarred, was nice to look at. The other was more angular—blond and bent and shaking—with feminine cheekbones and a smile that screamed of madness. They were unlikely companions, unlikely friends, but the world is full of surprises.

Like a gold-haired slave from Abydos being fed soup on their doorstep.

Malik was helping him sit up while Ryou gave him food, and Bakura, true to his nature, paced impatiently.

"You're sure you know him?"

"Yes, Bakura. I'm sure."

"Where did you meet him?"

"They slave market in Alexandria."

"Why is he here?"

"How the hell should I know?" Malik adjusted Jounouchi's weight, allowing himself to further inspect the other blonde. He was dirty and weak, dizzy from dehydration and itching from the sand sticking to his eyelids. Still, his plight could have been worse.

"You must have been traveling rather quickly to make it here from Abydos in such a short amount of time."

"Yeah." The blonde nodded in Bakura's general direction. "I was shooting for Baranis, but I…I must have gotten lost along the way. Good thing, though. You're the one I'm looking for. You see, my master has something he'd like to offer."

"Offer?" Bakura frowned. "Your master is Priest Seto of the besieged Abydos. What could he possibly have to offer me?"

"Information. You see, Anubis has…"

"Anubis has betrayed me and enlisted the help of Akunadin. I'm well aware of that."

For a moment Jounouchi looked startled. However, after a moment of uncertainty, he smiled. "And how are you planning to take care of this? An ally maybe?"

"Are you suggesting an alliance?"

"Yes, a temporary one. To kill both Anubis and Akunadin."

Touzouko observed this exchange with an interest unusual for his nature. Politics were not his strong suit. Still, the idea of killing two powerful authorities was rather exciting. "Why would this Akunadin person betray the Egyptian government anyway?"

The four people sitting outside the hut turned in astonishment. As was his habit, Touzouko had caught them unaware, allowing Marik to also be caught up in his effortless concealment. After about a minute, Jounouchi was able to spit out some words.

"I…I think…to be honest, I have no idea. It doesn't make sense, you see, because Priest Seto…because it just doesn't."

Touzouko gave the blonde a hard look but let his answer slide, lapsing back into his usual silence.

Malik spoke up. "There's a story about him they used to tell at the work camp. They say there was a tribe of the desert that stole a golden statue from the temple at Karnak. Akunadin had his men round up the bandits and burn their village. He boiled down the gold from the statues and had all of the perpetrators thrown into it. They burned to death in the treasure they'd stolen."

"What a horrible story. It can't be true."

Malik shrugged and gave Ryou a frightened smile. "He betrayed his own kin. Anything is possible."

Ryou flinched.

Mariku smiled wistfully.

Touzouko's eyes grew darker and more obscure.

For a moment, they were caught in a startled silence. Then Bakura cleared his throat. "I'm leaving for Abydos tomorrow. By now Anubis will have journeyed there as well. I'll kill him myself."

"We'll all go." For the first time Marik looked at Akefia as though he was something other than an unpleasant insect. "I'd say I'm as entitled to destroying him as you are."

The lord of Baranis smiled bitterly. "You'll be able to stand me that long?"

"The gods know I've suffered worse."

"I thought you didn't believe in gods."

Marik almost grinned but checked himself and turned to Malik. "I suppose you'll want to go as well."

"You won't try to stop me."

"No, I won't," Marik agreed. "You'll have to watch out for yourself, though. I have business with Anubis."

"I'm going too!"

Marik rolled his eyes. "Of course you'll go, Ryou. No one's left here to take care of you."

"I don't need taking care of! I'm in better physical condition than you, Marik!"

The blonde smirked wanly at the white-haired boy. "You've got more bite than I remember. My brother must be rubbing off on you."

"Wha…"

"Enough bickering." Touzouko yawned, apparently over whatever strange mood Malik's story had invoked in him. "If we're going to go gallivanting off like this, we need to eat and rest. Little Jounouchi here will tell you that the journey from here to Abydos isn't exactly a riverside stroll."

* * *

Mahaado awoke the morning after his meeting with Atemu to find the horizon barren. The troops of Alexandria were gone, their campfires still reeking of smoke. The rebel general turned to one of his guards. "What's happened here?"

The soldier shrugged. "They left two hours before daybreak. Just turned around and left."

Another, younger guard smiled. "I guess that means we won! Right, General Mahaado?"

The brunette frowned thoughtfully. "Something like that."

An hour later he gave the order to return to Abydos. Mahaado did not know for certain why Atemu had retreated, but he had an idea. _This is a world in which hope must be held onto. Even if this hope is false._

* * *

Three hours remained until departure, and Bakura could not sleep. As he had during the day, the lord of Barranis prowled Kul Elna's streets. The ruins were moonlit now and far less dismal. The night was clear, and mud-brick walls shown almost white against it. Bakura sat down on a slab of rock. He enjoyed the peace of the predawn stillness.

Somewhere beyond, one of the horses snorted. It was a contented, dusty sound. Then he heard voices.

"…oh…oh, that feels…"

Panting. A soft but boyish sound.

"…y-you like it?"

"…yes…"

Gentle laughter.

"…Ryou, you're so cute…"

"Are we going to…"

"…you want to?"

"…does it hurt?"

"…yes."

A pause.

"But I'd be with you…so…"

Bakura didn't wait to hear more. He stormed away, a picture of two boys embracing as bright in his mind as Kul Elna in the moonlight. A tan face buried deeply in bone-white hair. Soft words. Tentative caresses. Flushed. Ashamed and excited by their nakedness, by the sensation of their arousals rubbing against each other. Pale lips on bronzed ones. Tongues touching and inexperienced hands teasing awkwardly.

_Brazen grunts. Rough palms playing dirty tricks on intimate tracts of skin. Lust that bordered anger. Anger that fueled more kisses, more heat, more sultry laughter and shameless biting. A line of pubic hair that glistened gold despite the whitewash of starlight. Silver lashes framing cruel, brown-black eyes. A screamlike moan. A hateful smirk. Something unspoken and accepted. Doomed and loving it._

His brotherly rage was tinged with jealousy. What was real and what was memory combated him from both sides. Bakura's hands were clenched. His mind was full of dusk-eyed demons. Beneath the folds of his cloak, his body screamed for Marik.

* * *

-**TOT (Yay for dirty jealousy! The last scene was the most fun to write. Malik and Ryou actually make a pretty hot couple. I'll add a bit more fluff between them later on, and of course more Marik/Bakura flashbacks are in order. BTW, in case it wasn't obvious enough, Mariku is suffering from TB (aka consumption/ tuberculosis). I researched the disease, and it was actually pretty common in ancient Egypt. This chapter illustrates the complications of the characters' relationships. One of my favorites is the nature of the friendship between Touzouko and Marik and how Bakura feels about it. Anyway, I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible.**

**P.S. Much thanks to Cliscia for encouraging me to hop back on the bandwagon of fanfiction. You're amazing and talented and I love you!**

**Please review. **


	13. Winner

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 13: Winner**

* * *

The journey to Abydos was indeed a grueling trek. Sand as far as the eye could see. Heat that invaded everything—hair, skin, clothing, thoughts. They moved along in a temperature-induced haze, following Touzouko, whose impressive internal compass dragged them along like dogs on an invisible chain. They barely possessed the energy to speak. Instead, the group listened to the footsteps of their horses and became lost in a soft delirium induced by sunlight.

Still exhausted from his previous journey, Jounouchi rode behind the others. The nature of their company still astounded him. Bound in everything but friendship, they rushed onward blindly. Six people groping for something they did not quite recognize, their own, private justices lying barely out of reach.

* * *

Touzouko propped his chin on Marik's shoulder, trying to see beyond his mass of tangles into the glare of the rising sun. He thought of the tribulations that were to come. For the first time in his life the Thief King felt he had a purpose, and, though he was tempted to laugh at himself because of this, he was excited.

Excited and nervous. Not wrathful as he probably have been. _I'm going to kill Akunadin_. Revenge was already proving to be exhilarating. Akunadin had destroyed Kul Elna, and, knowing this, he would destroy Akunadin. Touzouko's plan was streamlined, elegant even.

_Maybe I'll kill that Seto person, also. Just to see if he cares about his son after all._

The idea of such cruelty was both thrilling and a little bit scary.

As if sensing his turmoil, Marik rolled back his calculating, amethyst eyes and gazed at him in question. Touzouko smirked back. He liked Mariku. He liked the haughtiness of his anger, the intelligence behind his madness, the way he seemed to understand exactly what he was thinking without being the least bit judgmental. _If I had found him before Bakura…_ If Touzouko had found him before Bakura, he would have never been so stupid as to give Marik away. He didn't see the blonde as a creature of traditional beauty, but there was a sort of twisted, physical appeal in matching such a frail, undesirable body to a deadly personality and a beautiful face.

Marik leaned farther into him, and Touzouko allowed one of his large hands to rest coyly on his upper thigh. The blonde's skin was laced with tension even when at rest.

"What do you think will become of us?" Out of his mouth almost before he realized it, Touzouko's barely existent whisper hinted at a level of personal involvement he'd never felt before.

"We might die." Marik's voice was just as quiet, but saturated like the rest of him with a unique sense of fervor. "We might live and wished we hadn't. We might even live and be happy. Who knows? As far as I'm concerned, the future's a blank slate."

"Really? I've always kind of believed in destiny."

Wrinkling his nose, the blonde gave the thief's hand a sharp pinch. "Why believe in something you know is set against you? If destiny has its way we'll die, Touzouko."

"...I suppose you're right…but that almost makes me want to tempt it a little."

"Tempt destiny?" Marik's trite smirk widened into a grin. "Saying things like that…I remember why I like you."

Emotion curled suddenly in Touzouko's stomach. He had never felt affection like this for another living creature. Innocence annoyed him. So did bravado. Until he'd met Mariku, the only creature the Thief King had respected was his horse. However, the blonde was not innocent; he was not pretentious, self-righteous, stupid, or any of the other personal adjectives Touzouko usually used when he spoke of people. Cruelty, wit, pessimism, and intelligence. Everything the pale haired bandit could ask for.

Their mutual distaste for humanity sealed the deal.

Silence fell in on them once more, and the King of Thieves went back to wondering about broken cities and haunted gazes framed in gold. He was vaguely aware of some disaster closing on them, but it was a sweet disaster, and Touzouko, perhaps, was not as frightened as he should have been.

* * *

_Marik was surprised to wake up in a comfortable bed. He could remember events from the previous day only vaguely. He recalled pain. He recalled being yelled at by the soldiers and hit. He also recalled being raped again by Bakura. Though he wasn't so sure it had been rape at all. Hadn't Bakura asked him something?_

_Body aching in embarrassing places every time he tried to sit up, the blonde contented himself with staring at the fabric canopy of the tent. He could hear Bakura snoring lightly beside him and wondered if the lord of Baranis was completely insane._

_Bedding his enemy. Especially when said enemy was no longer bound._

_But Marik had neither the strength nor the willpower to strangle him at the moment. Instead, he rolled painstakingly to his side to study the sleeping rebel's face. Bakura wasn't nearly as handsome sleeping as awake. In slumber his explosive nature was hidden, his hardened gaze and dangerous, dazzling white smile reduced to a fringe of silver lashes and sweetly gathered lips. Marik didn't like it. He wanted to see this man struggle, to storm and to smolder and to tear down all obstacles in his path. In a sick way Marik even wanted Bakura to hurt him. Again. Because it was nice knowing he had a kindred spirit in the world._

_Staring at the paler man's unnaturally calm visage, memories of the previous evening began to float across the darker's consciousness. He remembered hands resting on his back, marveling at the leathery texture of his scars. Not gentle hands but not violent ones either. Merely there. Firm and solid and comforting in their realness._

"_**Do you want it?"**_

_Had Bakura really asked that? Marik wanted to laugh off this notion, but he couldn't. Not when it seemed so true, so…so palpable. Memory made tactile by degradation, by confusion, by the fact that he hadn't eaten in over four days. _

"_You're awake."_

_To his credit, Marik tried not to look surprised. _

"_And I haven't killed you. Be grateful."_

_Bakura laughed at this and propped himself up on an elbow. "None of this affects you. Pain. Humiliation. Hunger. Tell me then, Marik. How can you be mastered?_

"_Why sin against a sinner? He'll already know your tricks."_

"_Clever." The noble's grin became less feral, and he looked at Marik in a way a captor shouldn't. "You're always saying things like that. It makes me think there's more to you than meets the eye."_

"_That depends on where you're looking." The blonde leaned in as far as his aching body would allow. Unlike himself, Bakura smelled clean. He wanted to sully this scent, to leave on it an imprint of himself._

_In short, he wanted to seduce him._

_Mariku was sick, mentally deformed in ways that even those who knew him were unable to fathom. __**Why hate someone so similar to myself?**__ This was his logic. After all, Bakura hadn't done anything Marik wouldn't do. A pot calling a kettle black, even in the name of hatred, seemed too hypocritical for the blonde to handle. _

_So it was that Bakura slid smoothly from tormentor into lover. Their lips met. Their hands, clumsy in an effort to be gentle, found something to hold onto. _

_The Damascus blade was left forgotten beneath Bakura's pillow._

* * *

Nostalgia was not something Marik generally indulged in. He liked the present, things he could touch and feel with neither wistfulness nor regret. Yet there were memories that refused to leave his head, moments he replayed time and time again in order to keep his sanity.

The blonde watched his former lover from the corner of his eye. In a fit of paranoia, he wondered if Bakura knew what he was thinking. Could the lord of Baranis read his thoughts? Those stubborn facets of his psyche that refused to trade the agony of longing for uncompromising detestation? If only he could force his brain to conform wholly to this hatred. Then, perhaps, Marik would be happy.

"How you gonna kill him?"

He snarled at Touzouko's question, for once deeply irritated with the thief. "Just trust that I'll do it, all right?"

In the face of the blonde's annoyance, the Thief King merely shrugged. "I'll believe anything you say you'll do, Marik. Just remember to leave Akunadin for me."

"Fine." The blonde bared his teeth in anticipation. There was nothing in the godless world so beautiful and sweet as vengeance.

* * *

They rested the horses for three hours at sunset before traveling on into the evening. The stars stood out nicely against the darkness, pristine and remote, lording over the tainted earth from their paradise in the sky.

Malik watched them enviously as he rode. Brilliant. Untouchable in their splendor.

"I'd like to see Marik explain those away as something other than works of the gods."

"Huh?" Riding beside him, Ryou gave Malik a questioning smile. "I thought you said something."

"Oh, it's nothing." Reaching across the empty space between their horses, Malik gave the paler's arm a soft pat. He could feel the small scar beneath his cloak, left weeks ago by the arrow. He knew this imperfection well now, had tasted it and marveled at its whiteness only the night before. A shudder rippled through Malik's abdomen as he thought of the previous night's events. Mewling, crying, loving in the most pure and carnal way—he hadn't expected so much intensity to dwell in Ryou's little body. At the time, he had almost been intimidated.

"When this is all over, I want to stay with you. I don't…I don't _care_ what my brother thinks! Malik, I'm in love with you."

For a moment they road in silence, one basking in the afterglow of acceptance, the other waiting nervously for a reply.

Finally, Malik answered. "I love you too, Ryou. Of course, you can stay with me."

_We'll deserve it if we get through this alive._

* * *

Despite the absence of the sun, Bakura still wore his hooded cloak. He looked neither to the right nor to the left but stared ahead at the broad expanse of the Thief King's back. He distracted himself with thoughts of Abydos, of how he would contact Mahaado, kill Anubis. He didn't dwell too long on what came after this. Few things held more certainty than death.

Feeling the glare of starlight beating down upon him, Bakura wondered how anyone could find beauty in lights so cold and distant. Personally, he preferred the illumination of fire. Even if it caused his skin to blister, at least it held him in attention. In the absence of flame, the lord felt distant, as if he were caught in some sort of hellish, undead limbo. Detached from the world, the refinement of emotion seemed to leave him. Joy lost its vitality. Grief congealed into a callous lump that sank to the bottom of his stomach. It was Love alone that still refused to fester.

For he was surrounded by Love, wasn't he? Trapped in it. Caught between jealousy and rage in the Love of Malik and Ryou. Wallowing hopelessly in the distorted, noxious Love he felt for Marik. _I'm in love with Marik_. Funny, he'd thought it would be harder to admit. But the readiness with which one caught by Love is what makes her so miraculously deadly.

Perhaps this was why Bakura clenched so tightly the hilt of the Damascus blade hidden in his clothing. Love would come to collect her dues soon enough, but when she did, he would surely slit her throat.

* * *

Anubis couldn't stifle a grin as the besieged Abydos rose before them. The look of horror on Akunadin's face was priceless. Had he thought the Rebel King could be so easily bested?

"It seems our paths have crossed after all, but I am a merciful victor. You shall live a little longer."

The older man struggled uselessly against the ropes that now bound him to his horse. His sorrow was too great for verbal utterance. The knowledge of defeat was too potent. The knowledge that his son would die because of him had driven him into a self-hatred that bordered madness.

Anubis laughed at the brokenness of Akunadin's gaze and began making his way to the battlefield. Ahead, his men waited for him. Even at a distance, the Rebel King could sense their uneasiness. Their lord was a man who ruled by cruelty. The sheer force of his will, of his ravenous sadism, kept them bound until death.

The army general slunk forward. "Th-this is a surprise, my lord! That is…we did not expect…"

"I see you have not taken Abydos." Anubis smiled at the wizened man with a subtle curl of his lip. "I expected more of you."

The man bowed his head in reverence and fear. "Forgive me, Lord Anubis. We did not know their defenses would be so…"

"Enough." The Rebel King raised his hand for silence and motioned for his tenants to bring Akunadin forward. "This man is the father of that city's high priest. As you can see he is something of a prisoner. However, I want him treated well. Let him sit back and watch the show."

"Yes, Lord Anubis. Of course."

"Now come with me. I have something to discus with you." The Rebel King beckoned the shaken man aside, waiting until they were out of earshot before he continued. "As you know, Bakura's general, Mahaado, is still engaged in the North. However, several hundred of his soldiers are still part of the siege here. This is problematic, for you see…"

"M-my lord?"

"What is it?" Anubis gave the man a sharp, dangerous look. "Why do you interrupt me?"

"He's not…that is to say…" The Rebel King's general looked terrified. His eyes bugged out. His Adam's apple bobbed reflexively. "Mahaado isn't…he returned last night."

"Did he?" A moment of blind, angry panic seized Anubis. _Mahaado has returned. Could it be that Bakura has discovered my plan and warned him?_ No. This was impossible. Even if the lord of Baranis knew all the details of Anubis' betrayal, the journey from Baranis to where Mahaado had been fighting would take too long. "It seems the Pharaoh's troops were weaker than I'd expected. Very well. We'll simply have to kill him here."

* * *

Still exhausted from his army's mad sprint back to Abydos, Mahaado wondered for perhaps the hundredth time why Atemu had turned back to Alexandria. Atemu was a man ruled solely by his sense of duty. To simply set such loyalty aside, something truly monumental must have happened.

"General Mahaado!" A messenger appeared, breathless, before his tent. "General Mahaado, the Rebel King, Anubis, has entered camp! He wishes…he wishes to speak with you immediately."

Ignoring the chill that clenched his chest, Mahaado rose slowly to his feet. "Very well. Tell him I am on my way."

He did not hurry, but, with perhaps more smugness than he had ever shown, forced said Rebel King to wait. He put on his good sandals, his cape, the little brass pendant Bakura had given bearing the hands of the three Fates. He combed out his hair and washed his face. Mahaado wanted to look presentable, ready for whatever tribulation came his way.

* * *

"I see you have arrived, Anubis. I'm sorry that no arrangements were made. We weren't expecting you."

"Quite alright." Though he hid his consternation well, the Rebel King was taken aback by the brazenness of Mahaado's usually gracious demeanor. There was something wrong with him. He hadn't even called Anubis 'Lord.' He continued. "Something unexpected has come up. As you can see…" He motioned towards the bound Akunadin. "…my men and I have captured someone of great value. We believe he is the man responsible for your lord, Bakura's, death."

Akunadin wouldn't bother contradicting him. Already, he was too dead inside to care.

"Bakura's death?" Mahaado's blue eyes grew suddenly very wide. "You can't be…but how?"

Anubis almost smiled. He had discovered long ago that, the more outrageous the lie, the more readily it was believed. "You haven't heard? Eight nights ago, the lord of Baranis was traveling towards my fortress to discus tactics. On the way, his party was attacked by a contingent of Akunadin's soldiers. Both Akefia and his younger brother were killed."

Mahaado looked as if he had been struck. His mouth moved wordlessly. His hands trembled. Even his forehead became beaded with sweat. Anubis delighted in his anguish. It was nearly palpable.

"I sympathize. I suppose you must feel as though your plans for a new Egypt are very much in jeopardy."

"My plans?" Despite the substance of his mourning, Mahaado laughed sharply in disgust. "I would pity you, Anubis, if I were not already so sickened by your heartlessness."

The Rebel King gritted his teeth in rage. How dare this…this mere peasant...insult him!

"I may be heartless, but at least I'm not a fool."

A blade flashed brightly in the sunlight, brightly enough to give Mahaado a moment's warning. Anubis' sword only grazed him as he leaped back, leaving a shallow gash upon his chest. His own blade was out in an instant.

"That was a dirty trick, Anubis."

"Best watch yourself, then." Anubis let loose a snarl of laughter. "Because I'm full of them."

The rest of their fight was conducted wordlessly. The only sounds were that of distant soldiers, steel striking steel, bloodied sand shifting beneath their feet. The Rebel King was larger than Mahaado but not nearly as quick. They were a good match—brute strength versus the agility of a cat.

However, Mahaado was still exhausted from fighting Atemu's army. Fatigue crept in on him slowly. His legs ached. His arms refused to lift the sword high enough. The general was losing ground and he knew it. This was a fight he could not win, but Mahaado would not go down easily. In his heart he did not believe Bakura had been murdered. The lord of Baranis represented something. Not and ideal, necessarily—for Bakura was too crude for idealism—but a sort of vitality. He was a human catalyst, invoking in those around him the overwhelming need to act. Such a person…such a person was not capable of simply dying.

But evidently, Mahaado was. Anubis' blade slid into him when he least expected it. Somewhere between his hip and his ribcage it met his lung, and the general fell to the earth, drowning in a torrent of his own blood.

"You see? I'm the winner."

But Mahaado did not hear the uncouth words of the Rebel King. Consumed by the assurance of his death, his gaze turned upwards, irises reflecting the impersonal blueness of the sky. _Values, pride, loyalty, courage_—how fickle such concepts now seemed to him! At the edge of nonexistence, Mahaado wished only to see life for what it was.

But Life is not one to readily reveal her secrets. She left Mahaado to die as he was born, alone and lost in ignorance.

* * *

The first signs of battle appeared to them on the afternoon of the following day. Smoke rising black on the horizon. Bakura felt a chill. Like everyone else—perhaps excluding Marik and Touzouko—he had little desire to see what lay ahead. He was already familiar with war, too knowledgeable in its tactics or, as fools were wont to call it, the art of it.

But war was no art-form. Art implied creation or, at the very least, demolition for the effect of purpose. Perhaps the ideals behind war were something like a painting, but the battle itself was far more base. Destruction for the sake of destruction. Death and cruelty that no means could ever truly justify.

Yet Bakura could never loath this instrument called war. He recognized bloodlust as a part of himself. His consciousness adapted to it perfectly. Meant to be a killer. Much like the Thief King and Mariku. _Like Anubis as well._

"We should stop here and wait for nightfall." Touzouko reined up at the bottom of an embankment. "It would be best to enter the camp in darkness."

Bakura nodded. "I agree, but I still think it would be a good idea to scout out the area. I'll go myself."

"No." Sliding off his horse, Malik stepped forward. "You'd be recognized and captured almost immediately. I'll go instead."

"The fuck you will! As if I would let some dumb kid…"

"Neither of you will go." Marik sneered down upon them both. "It's true that they would recognize Bakura, but they would also mistake Malik for myself. Ryou and I would face similar dilemmas. This leaves Touzouko and Jounouchi, but considering Jounouchi's state of health…"

"What are you talking about? I'm fine!"

Marik deigned the blonde a quick glare and continued. "Because of Jounouchi's _state of health_, the only logical selection is Touzouko." He turned expectantly to the thief, who smiled as if it were some sort of private joke.

"I'd love to."

Bakura stared hard at the pale-haired bandit. He did not trust him. However, everything Mariku said was true. When they got right down to it, Touzouko's stealth and agility made him the perfect candidate.

"Fine, but don't do anything reckless that will give us away."

Touzouko continued grinning. "I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

Wounds from his swordfight already tended, Anubis lounged beneath the shade of a small outcropping. From here, he held a commanding view of the battlefield. Soldiers fanned out before him like toy figurines. So easily manipulated. Even Mahaado's men preferred switching loyalties to defiance.

Humans, indeed, were predictable creatures. As a rule, they did not rebel unless threatened. Courage was possible, of course, but only if it was their last option. Protecting one's child or lashing out against those who were different could be explained away as instinctive impulses. In truth, the nature of humanity rested in subordination.

Marik was the only man who defied this law, the only man Anubis had ever known who fought, not because he felt threatened or angry, but because he loved it. He was unashamedly violent and confrontational to the point of masochism. How many times had Anubis beat him, raped him, starved him until he was half delirious and close to dying? Still, the blonde would offer him a jaunty smile made vulgar with too many teeth.

He was, of course, still human. He did scream when the pain became unbearable. He did find shame in the lowly torments Anubis found for him. Once—not long before he escaped—the Rebel King had even forced him to the point of crying. However, morning had come with no permanent change in Mariku's mentality. At least no change Anubis was aware of.

"_You'll die for this, Anubis."_

The Rebel King had believed this, had been frightened even though it came from a man barely able to lift his own feet much less a weapon. This was the effect Marik's insanity had on people. Staring into eyes of such depravity, even the strongest felt the impactof humanity. Anubis had realized and been drawn to this the first time he saw Mariku lounging at Bakura's side. He had wanted to hold onto that madness, cherish it, for in all things physical and psychological the blonde had been perfect.

And he had tarnished this perfection, marred it physically and—if he were so bold to say—psychologically as well. For breaking things is all a man like Anubis is capable of, and he knew this—he accepted it—but worshipped his shattered idol all the same. It was a sick, twisted love that only he could understand. Mariku hated him too much to bother and all other men were far too sane. However, the Rebel King knew in his heart that it was true and knew that his was a love that would make killing the scarred tomb keeper both hideous and sweet.

"My lord!"

A messenger boy approached, panting as he scaled the sandy dune to reach his master.

Anubis rose, casting his large, hulking shadow across the trembling youth. "What is it?"

"The walls…" He gasped both for oxygen and out of fear. "The walls of Abydos have been breached!"

"I see." A slow grid spread out across his face. At last, it was beginning.

* * *

**-TOT (The last part of this chapter was my favorite. I find it interesting to delve into Anubis' thoughts on Marik. I think it adds a bit of dimension to his character. **

**Anyway, please tell me what you think. Reviews are really encouraging and help build confidence! )**


	14. Touch Me

**A/N: Finally, I update! Sorry for such a long wait. I was feeling very uninspired with this fic because of writer's block and (yes, I admit to want of extrinsic motivation) lack of reviews. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this installment (I'm planning 2-3 more). I very much like the first and last scenes, which I purposefully left ambiguous to build suspense. Anyway, please tell me what you think!**

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 14: Touch Me**

* * *

Touzouko strolled easily through the campsite of Anubis' fires, distinguishing hair hidden beneath his cloak. The sheer number of soldiers was huge, but the men were undernourished and startlingly ill-equipped. Numbers, then, were Anubis' only advantage, and even this would be cut drastically when those loyal to Bakura returned to him.

_Hmm…_ The Thief King licked his lips. _Where, I wonder, is Akunadin. _

Passing what appeared to be a makeshift hospital, Touzouko paused to view the sick and injured. Vomit. Shit. Flies. Missing limbs and untended sores. Bad-smelling. Gangrenous. Both young and old were confined to this living graveyard. No one cared for them. Their wounds were merely left to rot.

Death. Death was what happened to the weak. Touzouko had known this since childhood, since he had seen his family and village burned, gutted, melted down for trinkets. The rumors were true. The people of Kul Elna had literally been boiled alive in molten gold. The jewelry of the Pharaoh, the coins used for barter in markets and at docks…all were infused with bone and flesh and human blood. All had been bought with the souls of those who were too weak to go on living.

Only Mariku understood, only Marik with his soulless eyes and bleeding lungs and scarred-up back saw what he saw. Existence was ruled by life and death. All else was trivial. Even revenge.

But revenge was what he wanted, and even if it was inconsequential, Touzouko would claim it. He would kill Akunadin and he would kill Seto and—if he was lucky—he would come away from this still living and fuck Marik until his emaciated frame really broke. At least this was roughly his plan. Reality would prove to be more complicated.

Judging by the scope and gaudiness of the tent ahead of him, the Thief King judged he had found Anubis' quarters. Two guards stood outside but failed to notice the white-haired specter lurking in the structure's shadow. He pressed an ear to the fabric of the tent but could hear over the noisy campsite only the faint garble of voices on the other side.

"…so…your son…when he…burn it…the ground…"

The second voice held even less distinction. It was comprised of short grunts and moans, animalistic almost, grieving. Touzouko pitied the poor fool now trapped in the presence of the Rebel King.

"…walls of…breached…tomorrow evening…his head…"

For the second time, the Thief King shivered at the pitiless nature of this voice. He didn't like thinking of Marik in the hands of such a monster. The nobler side of him even wanted to hurt Bakura for condemning the blonde to such a fate. However, killing the lord of Baranis would accomplish nothing.

_And Ra knows what Marik will to if I deprive him of his kill_.

"You there!"

One of Anubis' guards stood before him, brandishing a spear and trying to look larger than he really was. "What are you doing lurking around his Lordship's quarters? Oughtn't you prepare for the final siege?"

_Siege?_

Offering a smile that betrayed all of his craftiness and ill intentions, Touzouko straightened to full height to loom over the disgruntled sentinel.

"Just getting a bit of shade is all."

His actions had the desired effect. Tall, powerful figure. Deep voice. A smile that at once exuded charm and intelligence and danger. The guard fell back a step, look worried.

"W-what is your rank?"

"My rank?" Touzouko laughed and tossed his head, somehow making sure that his hair remained well-hidden. "Come closer and I'll tell you."

Even professionals make mistakes. Even kings sometimes out-step their bounds. And so the King of Thieves allowed too much dangerous promise to creep into his voice. He was betrayed by his own unkempt malignance. The sentinel _did _come closer. However, from his belt he unsheathed a blade and, being a bit less timid and a bit more skillful than the thief anticipated, slid the knife between his ribs.

Touzouko did not betray himself by crying out. Gritting is teeth more in frustration than in pain, he shoved past the guard and began to run. No time to kill the bastard. Not if he felt like living. Blood leaked freely from his wound as the pale-haired thief sprinted through camp. Already, he could hear shouts of alarm coming from behind. Intruder! Intruder! Intruder! Even the blood upon his robes branded him as such.

…_horse…damn it…where is he…_

Mustering the strength to whistle, Touzouko searched the horizon for his horse. He had left the creature on the far side of Anubis' army, not wanting to give away the others' location. However, in his current state of shock he could not for the life of him remember…

A blinding pain shot through the thief's right hand, causing him to scream despite himself and pitch forward into the sand. For a moment, he stared dumbly at the arrow that transfixed his palm before turning to glimpse a contingent of men not fifty yards away. _Damn it._ He ripped the shaft from his hand and forced himself to stand. _You're useless if they catch you. _

Running again. Running and running despite the nausea, despite the pain, despite the fact that he had no idea where he was running to. Touzouko tried again to whistle for his horse only to find that he no longer had the breath for it.

A darkness loomed before him. Perhaps Death. Perhaps the shadows of the broken walls of Abydos. He neither knew nor cared but ran toward it for no other reason than want of destination.

_I can't die. Not before I…_

The shouts of Anubis' men were closer now. However, so was the shadow. In a final act of despair, the Thief King threw himself toward it. He expected death. However, in the place of death Touzouko found warmth, softness, the sharp scent of cud and a stallion's sweat.

Grabbing the creature's mane, he swung aboard.

* * *

Marik stood alone in the desert, the dusk of morning twilight blanketing the sand in hues of pink and bleeding purple. He felt a bit purple himself. All cool and dark and bruised, hidden securely in a color that was close to but not quite blackness. Not wind, not sounds, not even starlight penetrated his solitude. _Like that dream in which nothing was moving_. He felt almost peaceful.

Almost. The blonde was worried about Touzouko. Unnecessarily perhaps, against his will, but Marik couldn't help hoping he would make it back all right. _Almost daybreak_._ He's a whole evening late._ But any minute now the Thief King would appear at the crest of the embankment. The cries of his companions would pierce the silence, and Mariku would know that everything was as it should be.

Until then he took his refuge in the stillness, in the lack of motion that alone could sooth the fevers of his soul. In such a state, his senses heightened. The blonde became conscious of his heartbeat, of his aching lungs and throat, even of the rigidity of the scars that marked his back.

"I forgot that you could look like that."

Bakura stood behind him, silent as night, as death, so quiet he had until now not violated the completeness of Marik's stillness. Yet here he was. His jarringly pale hair was offensive to the continuity of the desert's palate. His aristocratic, beautiful face was nearly as unbearable as starlight.

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you before he returned."

"See me?" Turning around fully, Marik spread his arms as far as they would go. His robe fell back, pooled at his feet, leaving the blonde's marred, unlovely body brutally exposed. "Well then, here I am."

There was no revulsion in Bakura's gaze. No remorse either. He approached silently, placed his palm lightly on the blonde's frail chest.

"You're shivering."

"It's fucking cold."

Stupid things to say. Misguided concern. Rejected sympathy. Bakura's eyes continued to wander Marik's body, caught up in the sickness of it, in the fresher scars.

"Why are you so astounded? It's because of you I look like this."

This was the closest Mariku ever came to admitting the disgust he found in his physique.

Bakura's hand slid over the blonde's clavicle and neck, rested briefly on his cheek. "I can't deny that." His hand continued upward, burying in hair that, despite itself, retained a glimmer of its former glory. "But I won't apologize. You wouldn't like that."

"No." Marik grabbed Bakura's other wrist, pulled it forward until its soft flesh rested on his lips. "I wouldn't."

Disguising the hitch in his throat with a bout of nervous laughter, Bakura drew closer to the deliciously caustic blonde. "Do you hate me?"

"Yes."

"Then why…"

"Don't ask questions!" Marik bristled, bit roughly at the paler's fingers. "Accept this and be thankful that I haven't killed you."

Folding his arms around the other's shoulders, Bakura seemed amazed to find the blonde unopposed to his embrace. "Will you…"

"Kill you? Of course."

"Soon?"

"Eventually."

Bakura sighed. "I can deal with that."

"Just shut up and fuck me, Akefia."

* * *

Silence followed. Gathering enough courage to meet his gaze, the lord of Baranis was startled by the desperation he found there. Mariku's pupils were dull and hard, but his eyelids trembled and he blinked in a way that was nothing if not agitated.

Slowly, despite himself fearful of his reaction, Bakura pressed his lips against the blonde's quivering mouth. Rough and cracked, tasting of salt and something bitter, Marik's kiss was exactly as he remembered. He pushed his tongue past his lips hastily, worried suddenly that the blonde might change his mind. However, Marik accepted this advance without comment. If anything, he opened his mouth wider, taking in Bakura's heat to let it mingle with his own.

Physical perfection tarnished though it was, the blonde's passion had lost none of its potency or violence. He dug his hands securely into Bakura's hair, pressed his body flat against him. Forgotten it seemed was his contempt, his grudge so long fed by disloyalty and crumpled promises.

"Touch me."

* * *

Marik shuddered as the paler's hands obeyed his command and began sliding down his back. Pale met dark. Nails bit into deadened scar tissue. But Marik didn't need intact flesh to sense the fingers of the man he loathed and longed for exploring the intimacies of his unclothed body. He moaned without restraint, cried out selfishly. He wanted more of this seduction, of this one thing sweeter than his hate.

"…u-uh…" His body jerked as Bakura groped between his thighs. Dazzled by his own carnality, Mariku surrendered completely to the other's embrace. He allowed himself to be lured down upon the sand. The starless sky had blushed to pink. Bakura's weight felt comforting on his chest.

There bodies were out of practice, unused to each other as they once had been. However, an emotion he did not care for still rose within Mariku's chest. He felt the paler pressing him chest down into the sand, cried out as a hot tongue traced the scars upon his back.

"N-no…Bak…don't…"

"Shh…"

* * *

Slowly, Bakura kissed his way down the marred expanse of the other's back. He loved on Mariku's body, appreciated the mewls of pleasurable discomfort he was able to illicit.

"…f-fuck…Bakura…why are you…"

The blonde's sudden weakness both appalled and seduced him. He sounded hysterical, not pissed off or contemptuous as he usually did when upset. Smirking at this, Bakura dragged his wet tongue up the protrusion of Mariku's spine.

"…s-s….sto…ah…"

Tears glistened unshed in the blonde's cold eyes. His ragged exhalations sounded suspiciously like sobs. That the paler was touching his back so avidly seemed to Mariku quite unbearable. He hadn't reacted this way before…before Anubis.

"I've really broken you." He kissed the fine gold hairs at the back of his companion's neck. "Haven't I?"

* * *

Marik made no reply but spread his legs as Bakura's arousal pressed him into from behind. His thoughts fell to pieces as he was entered. Hatred. Lust. Pain. Rage. Which emotion should he follow? The blonde had no idea.

_Some emotions run deeper than words, deeper even, than conscious thought._

He believed this now, firmly. The trembling of his body made the blonde painfully aware. Marik didn't wish for Bakura to affect him in such ways, but what was he to do?

"…don't touch my back…"

"Why? You like it."

"I-I…"

How in mere words could Mariku possibly express to the other how sincerely and truly he did _**not**_ like it? He hated it, loathed it, would choose to be beaten or raped or killed rather than endure such heart-wrenching sensation. Contact with the scars had never bothered him in such a way. However, everything was different when it came to Bakura. It always had been.

"Does it hurt?"

_YES! _

Marik shook his head. The sex itself felt good and, had the act been a purely physical experience, so too would have Bakura's oral ministrations. How could he claim to hate him when the lord of Baranis made him feel…feel like…

"Marik…goddamnit…" Bakura's words came labored between each thrust. "Why are you…you're so…"

What? What was he? Marik wished he knew. Everything was wrong! To make love to the man who betrayed him, to the one person he loathed more than the Rebel King. But he had asked for it. Quite literally. Marik's body wanted this. So did his heart.

And it was the idea of following his heart that repulsed the blonde more so than anything.

"M-Marik…I'm going to…let me come inside you…"

_Like I have a choice._

Mariku nodded in response to the other's broken voice and let out a startled, sobbing moan as the warmth of Bakura's essence filled him from behind. He felt his own climax ripple past, intoxicating and brilliant and brutally painful. His throat closed upon the pleasure. His lungs screamed for oxygen, then screamed louder when they received it. Nothing was right, but all of it was beautiful.

"Marik?"

The blonde was only just aware of the paler's arousal being pulled from his body.

"What the fuck? You're bleeding!"

Rolling over onto his back, Mariku felt something viscous sliding past his lips. _Blood?_ He tried to sit up only to crash back to the sand in a fit of coughing. He felt weak suddenly, dizzy in a way that reminded him of his time spent starving and being raped in Anubis' palace.

"Hold still."

Bakura's arms supporting him, Marik was finally pulled into a sitting position. His throat and chest ached. Everything tasted acrid and red. Red. Did red taste? In such a sorry state, the blonde was sure it had to.

"Marik, what the hell is this?"

He was too busy hyperventilating to think of an adequate reply. Trembling against the paler's chest, Mariku watched as the sky began to slip from pink to morning blue.

_The color just slips out of it._

At that moment Marik felt just like the sky. Life was slipping out of him. If he did not stem the flow…all of it would leave him, leaving nothing but a doll-like body in the sand.

"Akefia…" His lips barely moved. They were painted scarlet. "Akefia, I think I'm dying."

* * *

Bakura's heart clenched around Mariku's words. He tried to force them out, but they only burrowed deeper, laughed at him, tormented him. Verbal daggers fit to kill. And it was ironic, wasn't it? Of all the things Mariku had said to him the past few days, "I think I'm dying" was by far the least malicious, yet it was these words that scalded him as no threats or insults ever could.

_You can't be dying!_

Bakura didn't bother exclaiming this. Marik wasn't stupid and probably knew better than anyone else what was happening to him. If he said he was dying then he undoubtedly was. However, acceptance brought no end to Akefia's grief. He pulled the blonde's deceptively fragile body tighter against his chest, using his free hand to wipe the blood away as best he could. It was not a characteristic act. What Bakura did was governed not by personality but by something deeply ingrained and primal, the instinct of despair.

"When?" The harshness of his voice felt fake somehow.

The blonde laughed. His mouth was garishly crimson. "How should I know _when_ it will happen? Really, you act as if I've somehow planned this."

"Sometimes I wonder if you wouldn't."

"You think I'm that insane?"

"Why else make love to someone you hate as much as me?"

For a moment Mariku seemed to ponder this. Then he wiped the blood from his chin and gave the lord of Baranis one of his dazzling, treacherous smiles. "If I said I didn't know would you think the worse of me?"

"I…"

A sudden commotion erased the words from Bakura's lips. A ruckus of shouts coming from their hideout.

_Damnit! Do they not realize the importance of silence?_

Dragging himself and the blonde to their feet, Bakura turned back towards camp. Something about this situation did not sit well with him.

* * *

"Touzouko's late." Ryou gazed up at the rising sun, its multi-colored facets given free reign to color and make dazzle his neutral colored hair.

"Yeah." Malik pulled the younger closer and buried his face in his heaven-tinted tresses. "I wouldn't worry, though. He seems pretty competent."

"Your brother seemed pretty worried, though. He wandered off all by himself."

Smiling despite his uneasiness, Malik kissed Ryou tenderly on the mouth. "Marik does things like that sometimes."

Ryou parted his lips, effectively deepening their kiss, and threw his arms about Malik's broader shoulders. "That's what I told Akefia," he murmured into the other's mouth. "He followed him anyway."

The blonde did not reply to this, but ran his hands beneath the paler's robes and up his spine. This morning he would be selfish. He would not think of his brother or Bakura or the monster, Anubis, whom they sought to kill. He had only mind enough for Ryou, for the pleasure he wished to give to and reap from him.

"…a-ah…what if…Jou…"

"He won't wake up." Not even bothering to glance in the slumbering slave's direction, Malik nibbled gently under Ryou's chin before kissing down to his clavicle. He pulled the smaller boy into his lap and ground against his hips.

"M-malik…what…"

Seized by a crazy sense of urgency, the blonde lifted the other's robes and brought his lips to his exposed chest. "I love you, Ryou. I-I swear I…"

"…uhh…I know…" Ryou moaned as Malik slid his tongue over one of his pert nipples. "I…I love you too."

It seemed they had realized this a thousand times, each the sweeter for its repetition; some things cannot be said enough. Still, as the lovers clung to each other, they realized somehow that this was the last embrace in naivety they would share. War loomed just ahead, and with it the brutality of knowledge. The sweetness of unknowing would leave them soon. After this moment, neither would be able to ignore the cruelty surrounding them.

Knowing this, they held each other for as long as possible.

The omen that withered youth appeared before them. A black stallion wounded and half gutted, steps unshaken despite the entrails attempting to escape its seams. Though its injuries—a great slice across the belly as well as some arrows in its neck and flanks—were gruesome the horse voiced no complaint. Rather, it met death graciously, with the peaceful acquiescence oft found in beasts but not in man. Following instinct, it had returned to camp in hopes of reuniting with its master. However, the white-haired thief had been lost from its back in the midst of fleeing, leaving on its ebony coat only a spattering of foreign blood.

"Is he alive?"

Out of nowhere, Marik.

"Or is he already dead like you are?"

The wild-haired blonde approached the dying horse on shaky feet. If one looked closely, he might have seen the blood worked into the cracks of his lower lip. Reaching out, he touched the creature's forehead.

"Poor horse."

The beast exhaled softly, remained static for a moment, and fell to earth, slender legs folding up as elegantly in death as ever they did while living. Mariku's eyes did not follow the body in descent, but stared past it at something he alone could see.

"Jounouchi, by which entrance did you leave the city?"

There was something different in Marik's voice, less madness perhaps and more directed anger.

The pale blonde, who had woken up just moments before, blinked and struggled to form coherent thought. "A rock cave about a morning's walk from here. It leads to a tunnel that comes up near the kitchens.

Marik smiled dully, perhaps remembering some similar escape route of the distant past. "We'll go there now, then. There's no point in waiting for nightfall. If…if they've killed Touzouko, then they already know we're here."

Bakura, until this point the group's tactical leader, said nothing. He either agreed or felt it not his place to go against one with a gaze so deathly shadowed.

And so they left the horse's carcass to the vultures and struck out for the gate of new destruction.

* * *

**-TOT**

**Please review.**


	15. Words

**Enchantment**

**Chapter 15: Words**

* * *

"You brought me a corpse?" Seto stared in abject disbelief at the jumble of white hair and torn flesh lying at his guards' feet. "May I ask why?"

"He's…he's not dead my lord. We found him hidden in the rubble behind some buildings. He says…"

"The walls are breached. All of Abydos' occupants who weren't killed have been crammed into the palace courtyard from which we now must wage battle, yet you feel I have time for the worthless ramblings of a dead man?"

"My lord! He says he has important information from a friend!"

Seto laughed. Even imminent death could not quell his dehydrated sense of humor. "Out with it, then." He addressed the crumpled body. "Come on man! Tell me what you know!"

And to the High Priest's disbelief, the corpse answered.

"…Ba…kura…Baranis…here…his men hate…hate Anubis…will return to him…"

"You!" Seto gestured frantically to one of his attendants. "Bring some water! And a doctor! Hurry!" Maintaining his dignity, he did not bend down to the level of the wounded man. However, the Priest regarded him tensely with an unsettled gaze.

_Who is this man?_

He looked like some sort of outlaw. Unshaven. Gritty and scarred. Powerful—he had to be to survive such injuries. Seto would expect nothing less of one of Bakura's henchmen. There was a glimmer in his blood-crusted eyes, though. An intelligence that didn't quite fit within the Priest's schema of subordination. _If this man were not so weak, he would be extremely dangerous. _

"My lord!" Seto's personal doctor rushed in, followed closely by a servant carrying water and medical supplies. "I came as soon as I could. Who…who is this man?"

"Tend to him." Pointedly, Seto disregarded the physician's question. "When he awakens, come for me."

"…yes, my lord."

Seto exited the room, leaving the doctor and his attendants to treat the wounded man. Feet carrying him to his chambers and out onto the balcony, he surveyed the battlefield, the smoking remnants of Abydos and its supposedly impregnable walls. Since learning of his father's betrayal, Seto had held no real hope. Even Alexandria had abandoned him.

However, if Jounouchi had somehow reached Bakura, if this man now in his doctor's care indeed spoke true, help would soon arrive from Baranis. Not only this, but those soldiers in Anubis' army formerly loyal to Bakura might even return to him. He was not the Rebel King but commanded a following nearly as legendary.

_A Legend, huh? Let's see if he lives up to it._

* * *

They found Mahaado's carcass sometime before noon. It lay face up on the rise of a sand dune, putrid and partially consumed by carrion birds.

The first to come upon it was Ryou. At first he did not recognize the green-tinged, swelling corpse. However, as—with the macabre fascination of one completely horrified—he looked closer, he recognized the long hair and blue, commanding eyes that even in death retained something of their clarity. The boy screamed then, fell to his knees in shock and cried out to his brother and the others who hurried to meet him on the rise.

Bakura recognized the remains almost immediately. Standing beside his brother's crumpled figure, he gazed down into his general's now doll-like gaze.

"Mahaado." Bakura's expression was unreadable. His lips were parted slightly, either out of astonishment or to breathe around the body's stench.

"Akefia…" Tearfully, Ryou looked up at his older brother. "Akefia, I…what is…"

"He's dead." The lord of Baranis spoke as though the act speech alone was physically exhausting. "Anubis must have killed him."

Ryou marveled at the controlled dispassion in his brother's voice. For the first time since learning what Akefia had done to Marik, anger rose in the young man's stomach. "He was loyal to you, you know? The least you can do is show some…"

"Ryou."

The boy fell silent as a large, tan hand fell on his shoulder. He glared up into Mariku's angled features defiantly only to lose to the frightening coldness of the other's gaze. He knew what the blonde was trying to get at.

So Ryou stopped speaking and watched his brother watch Mahaado. Marik's hand was still warm and strong on his shoulder and he was suddenly reminded of a cool evening long ago in Baranis.

* * *

_Ryou stood on the battlements of the city gates, brown eyes fixed on the roaring darkness of the outreaching ocean. He had just fought with his brother about something too insignificant and stupid to even be remembered and had come here to blow off some steam. _

"_Damn it, Akefia."_

_Tears of frustration clung obstinately to Ryou's eyelashes. How he wished he were not so emotional! So weak! Then perhaps Akefia would respect him…as he did Marik. _

"_Children shouldn't be up so late."_

_Speaking of the devil._

"_Leave me alone." Ryou turned so the wild-haired blonde could not see his tears. "I'm not…not in the mood."_

"_Oh?" With a toothy smile and confidence that did not befit a slave, Marik came closer. The moonlight illuminated his muscular figure, his arrogant face, the slight limp he still carried from his first foray with Bakura. "Don't take your brother's words so seriously, Ryou. I find your earnestness exceedingly obnoxious."_

"…_then how would you have me take them?"_

_The blonde shrugged and stared off into the ocean with a maddened, if faintly thoughtful, smirk. "As nothing. Akefia's words are worthless. It's his actions that define him."_

_It was in this moment that Ryou, both bitterly and with the slightest hint of admiration, came upon the realization that Marik knew his brother as he and the rest of the world never could. In time he would come to blame it on their common lunacy. However, at the moment, the boy wondered at the blonde as he would something exotic and a little bit poisonous._

* * *

They did not linger long at Mahaado's corpse. Bakura scattered some sand upon it, placed coins to pay the way upon his eyes—a true Greek burial. Then they left the general to be consumed by buzzards and the desert wind.

Marik watched Akefia carefully as they continued walking but did nothing to comfort him. He was still deeply bitter, still reeling at the loss of Touzouko.

_What loss?_

Callous words, but they comforted him a little. The blonde could wrap himself in cruelty, hide beneath a veil of vengeance and insanity and never be forced to face the less desirable of his emotions.

But Touzouko had been kind to him.

_So was Bakura for a time. See where that got you?_

Boredom was heinous, more wretched and painful than any form of physical abuse. Bakura had given him to Anubis not out of anger but because he was sick of him. He'd had all of Marik that he wanted. The only logical act was to pass him down the line.

Another shield. False thoughts brought forward for protection. Mariku knew that he was lying to himself. He knew that Bakura would never be bored of him and that, already, he missed Touzouko dearly. However, the fantasy was easier to live with, easier to make sense of in his cold, betrayal-numbed mind.

'"_Anger is strength."'_

Anubis once said this, said this to Mariku will he was raping him, shoving him up against a wall and forcing himself in and out until his insides tore and the blood made it too messy even for the Rebel King's taste.

This was Marik's second night in Anubis' city, his second night of, for the first time since childhood, losing all control.

And as he remembered, this night had been worse, even, than the first.

* * *

_Marik was not hiding; he did not hide from anything. However, he was holding very still and did not breathe loudly as, from the shadows, he regarded his new master._

_Master. Somehow the word didn't fit. Bakura had not been his master, but he let him go as if he were. The man standing before him was huge and cruel and ugly, and Marik's body __**ached**__ with what he had done to him. _

_And what he was about to do again._

_Anubis' predatory eyes fixed upon him, and his mouth split open into a hideous grin. "There you are."_

_Marik did not allow himself to feel hunted. He met the monster's gaze, stood as straight as his burning body and bad back would allow, and waited. A large, thick-fingered hand reached out, clamped vice-like around his lower jaw. Sharp nails traced the contours of his neck. _

_And still Mariku did not give. In his heart he probably wanted to. He was probably scared. He probably should have run away…but he didn't. _

_Anubis chuckled. "After last night, one would think you would have enough intelligence to flee me."_

_The blonde said nothing. With the last of his resolve, he curled his lip._

_This final act of defiance, small though it was, served as an incontrollable catalyst. Marik had never been struck so hard in his entire life; he literally stopped seeing, was aware only of his pain-clenched lungs, of his jaw giving a tremendous crack. Then the earth came spinning out from under him, and he heard rather than felt his body hit the floor._

"_Remember this, Marik. What happens when the weak show insolence."_

_Rage. Rage and madness and a stubborn streak so poignant it drove him easily to kill, to disregard his own wellbeing in favor of impudence. These emotions overwhelmed the blonde, and, as his vision finally came back to him, he glared up into Anubis' face and laughed. _

…_and screamed as the man drove his foot straight into his crotch. Mariku had been forced to go naked since arriving, and the thought of the Rebel King's booted heel digging into his bare flesh…it was degrading. So he screamed more out of frustration than out of pain, and Anubis, realizing this, played upon it further._

"_Bakura told me all about you, you know? Said you were a good bitch, made all the right noises during sex. I didn't hear much from you last night. Let's try again, shall we?"_

_**You're lying. **_

_This fact did little to harness Marik's anger and nothing at all to improve his situation. The previous night, he'd been able to remain quiet, at least. However, his body ached now, was torn inside and out from a grueling desert journey and a long night of abuse. He almost wished Anubis had raped him before they reached his city. It might have been more bearable out beneath the stars._

"_Turn over." _

_Marik laughed again and tried to stand. However, he was struck down with as much force as before. Blood entered his mouth and he began to gag. God, he hated it—this salty, metallic, __**human**__ taste. _

_Hands lay on his body now, huge hands. Hands that pulled at his flesh as if it were a piece of meat, without reverence digging into the scars that crossed his aching back. Unable to help himself, Marik shut his eyes. The only other person who had violated him like this was Bakura, and even then it hadn't been as bad._

_Maybe the aftertaste of betrayal was finally getting to him. _

"_Turn over."_

_There was the command again. Anubis could easily force Marik's body to turn if he wanted to. However, he seemed to want the blonde to do it himself, leeched a sort of odious pleasure out of completely breaking Marik's will. _

_But malice does not break easily, and after a moment of tense silence the Rebel King gave in to frustration and grabbed the blonde, forcing him face down against the granite. Mariku felt suddenly ill as the man leaned over him. His head ached. Bile crawled subversively up his throat. He was not prepared—never would be—for the splitting, intimate pain that struck him upon Anubis' entrance. The man's penis, like the rest of him, was huge. __**It hurt**__. God, it hurt. As if his insides were splitting open, his bowels tearing and his lower back muscles seizing up and threatening to escape the confines of his flesh. Were he a lesser man, Marik might wish for death. However, he was no less a monstrosity than Anubis, and with inhumanity comes uncommon strength._

_Because of this, Marik would grit his teeth and bear it, face taking on the visage of a toothy, maddened smile._

* * *

_Hours later, Mariku found himself wandering through the fortress' inner garden. He didn't know where he was going; his mind was blank…or, depending on how one looked at it, full. Full of pain and outrage and a deep embarrassment. Embarrassment because he had finally cried out, screamed over and over with a hoarse, guttural despair that he had thought himself no longer capable of feeling. _

_After raping him several times in various positions and places, Anubis had grown tired or perhaps bored and allowed the blonde to limp quietly away. And so Mariku wandered. Resting, giving in to the exhaustion that plagued him, was not an option. He had to look forward, keep moving. If he stopped, if he so much as glanced behind him, the gravity of what had been done to him would catch up, and the hatred that had sustained Marik for so long might begin to crumble._

_It was while thinking this that the blonde came upon the marble basin at the garden's center. The water inside was beautiful, deep and smooth and black and unimaginably, bone-chillingly cold. Still, also. Still enough to perfectly reflect the stars. Without hesitation, he crawled over the basin's edge and slid with a soft gasp into the frigid water. Lying back, he gazed upward, meeting the dispassionate gaze of billions of hydrogen facets. For a minute Marik even imagined he was up there bathing in the darkness of the sky with them instead of with their reflections here on earth. Everything cold and soulless and wonderful. No one trying to kill him, tempting him to pray to gods that existed only as stone effigies in temple halls. It was only in absolute stillness that Marik's volatile mind was able to find a shred of peace._

"_Planning to freeze to death?"_

_So numb was he with cold and silence, Marik barely registered the fear reentering his body as Anubis approached._

"_No. I don't plan on dying here."_

_**Not tonight, anyway**__._

"_Good. Death is not something I will allow."_

_**Not yet. **_

_Slowly, Mariku stood, allow the water to slide, dark and glittering, down the contours of his naked body. Anubis coughed loudly—a rattling and surprisingly frail sound for a man of such strength—and pulled the blonde forward by the arm._

"_Bakura was a fool, you know, for giving you to me."_

_Mariku managed a tight-lipped smile._

"_I think he did it because he is afraid."_

"_Afraid of me?" The blonde's curiosity got the better of his hate._

_At this Anubis grinned and, jerking the smaller man forward by the shoulders, kissed him for the first and only time upon the lips. Marik yanked back in surprise, retching. Anubis' mouth was full of blood. _

_The Rebel King bared his teeth in a blood-flecked grin and laughed. "Not afraid of you, necessarily. But afraid of something. That's for sure."_

* * *

Anubis grinned darkly at the crumbling walls of Abydos. Already, he could smell victory, could taste the blood of his enemies as the besieged city fell apart around them. Upon learning of the white-haired spy's escape, he had been irritated. However, even this failed to completely spoil his good humor.

_The spy was probably Bakura's_.

This thought only served to improve further the Rebel King's mood. He looked forward to Akefia's arrival…and to Marik's. He knew that both would come. They wanted his blood badly enough, as badly as he desired theirs. He remembered killing Mahaado and wondered vaguely if Bakura had stumbled upon his body. Would he feel rage? Or like Anubis was he too much a demon now to care? And who did Marik hate more? Himself or Bakura?

And as the Rebel King pondered the strength and grounds of hatred, his chest burned and his throat constricted and, spitting something black and bloody into the sand, he was gripped for a moment by a wrenching, death-like terror.

But as all things are want to do, the terror and pain ran their course, for looking up Anubis couldn't help but laugh. In the distance, a black smoke rose upon the heavens. Abydos was burning.

"At last, it is time."

* * *

The tunnel was cold, cold and dark and smelling of death and fear but mostly of mildew. They'd left their horses at the entrance, and the floor was wet; their only light came from the guttering torch in Jounouchi's hand. However, even in darkness Malik was not as frightened as he might have been. Ryou was there to reach out to him.

As they so often did, the lovers brought up the rear. In the passage's darkness, it was safe to touch occasionally, to allow their arms to brush gently against each other. This alone was Malik's reason for being brave, this and the knowledge that his older brother—cruel yet capable—was helping lead the way.

Because a part of Malik still believed in Marik, still saw him as the young, strong, indomitable force that had saved him from living entombment, made possible his escape from Bakura into the desert. He'd seemed so alive then, so passionate and free. Even the world…the gods, certainly…was at a loss as to how to chain him.

The ghost who walked before him now, who had greeted him as a gaunt specter at the broken city of Kul Elna…was still Marik, but a Marik stripped of everything—of health, of flesh, of the smallest trace of what had once been something like humanity. It was as if the blood that escaped his lips when he coughed took with it what remained of his sanity and dangerous beauty. What was left was a man not quite his brother and not quite human.

_Malik_. All Ryou had to do was touch his hand, and the blonde could almost hear his gentle voice, sweet and low in the cave's intimate darkness.. He gave the boy an unseen smile. He was all right. They both were. Everything…everything would work out somehow.

Quietly, so as to escape their brothers' notice, Malik leaned over and kissed Ryou on the mouth.

"Did you see that?"

He jerked away suddenly, realizing moments later that Bakura was not even turned in his direction.

"Yeah." Jounochi's scrappy baritone. "A light up ahead. We're almost out."

Awaiting his brother's comment, Malik was left disappointed. Mariku did not speak, but in the unsure, spitting torchlight his back appeared broader somehow…as it used to be. His cloak billowed, phantomlike, around him and his dimly lit hair—unkempt, structure-less and feral—took on a greenish, dirty hue. Malik realized suddenly that he didn't even know what his brother was anymore, if he ever had at all.

_He's a monster. Or a man. Or a…a…_

At that moment, as if somehow tasting his brother's despair, Mariku turned to glance behind. His eyes were dispassionate, as they had always been. However—whether from some trick of the torchlight or as a result of his own internal dreamings—Malik fancied he caught something in them…a sort of brittle, ill-lit compassion.

Too soon Mariku looked away and Malik was left to wonder. _Was_ his brother human? Was he monster? Or did the fabric of his psyche stretch beyond the limits of Man and monstrosity, taking the form of something that eluded even definition?

And then they emerged from the tunnel into the bowels of Abydos. Malik had no more time for musings. The scent of smoke wafted in from far above them, soldiers and civilians swarmed together like rats, and a tall, blue-eyed man stood suddenly before them. He looked at Jounouchi and nodded before turning his attentions to Bakura.

"You are the lord of Baranis, I presume."

The white-haired, pale-faced devil smirked. "How'd you guess?"

At this the tall man almost smirked. "If you would follow me. I suppose you want to see that friend of yours before we get down to discussing tactics."

Marik said nothing, but Malik noticed a trembling of his lips almost faint enough to be called hope. They followed the tall man—Priest Seto, Jounouchi told them—into a smaller, far less crowded room. There was a bed in one corner, and on it…"

* * *

When Touzouko opened his eyes, it took him a moment to register the pain. He was too distracted—blissfully so—by an angular but deeply masculine face staring back at him. He must be in the realm of the living then, for no creature so morally soiled as Marik could ever hope to make it past the scales into the afterlife.

"I ca…"

The pain hit then, and Touzouko's words were stricken from his lips as his body screamed in torment. Despite this, he tried to lift his hand to the other's face. However, a bone-grinding pain ripped through his palm and he allowed it to fall in despair. Events were coming back to him now, memories of a bloody flight, of cruel laughter and smoke rising on the air. Somehow Touzouko had lived through all of that, and yet he was still unable to touch Mariku's face.

"You're alive. I knew you would be."

Maybe it should have been blamed on his pain-warped state of mind, but for a moment the Thief King thought he might be lying. He tried to vocalize this but could only manage a violent cough. Everything shifted out of focus and the next thing Touzouko knew, he was alone again.

For a second the Thief King seized with terror. Visions of fire rose before his eyes, great, blanketing walls of flame enclosing him, stifling him with their heat and putrid smoke. With the waking nightmare came a sense of entrapment and powerless anger. Touzouko could do nothing but watch as his world caught flame and smoldered into ruin.

However, as quickly as this memory came it was wiped away, and he was aware of only darkness and his aching body, of familiar voices drifting in from just outside the room.

* * *

"We have very little time to act. By nightfall, Anubis' army will have complete control of the outer city."

"Yes." Bakura nodded to the taller man. "Unfortunately my general is dead. We will need to think of another way to contact my troops."

"I see." To his credit, Priest Seto did not bear himself as a man facing imminent defeat. He stood straight, blue eyes alert and guarded. Despite his somewhat distasteful nature, Bakura sensed in the man a natural leadership, a determination people would follow despite his nastiness. The narcissistic side of Akefia was reminded of himself. "How, then, do you propose we alert your men of their lord's presence."

"There's only one way." Bakura looked at Seto, but his thoughts rested with the gold-haired madman in the corner. "I will have to reveal myself in battle."

"No!" Ryou was up in an instant. "Be reasonable, Akefia!"

"…this does not concern you, Ryou."

"The hell it doesn't! Showing yourself in such a way will accomplish nothing but alerting Anubis and getting you killed!"

"If that's what it takes…"

"Don't feed us your bullshit, Bakura, and don't play the hero." Mariku's disinterested voice seemed unnervingly sane in contrast to the heated exchange of the two brothers. Leaning against the wall, slightly apart, his air was almost menacing. "Ryou's right about one thing: you would be killed. However, I'm fairly certain Anubis already knows of your presence."

Bakura was taken back despite himself. "How?"

"Him." Marik jerked his head in the direction of Touzouko's room. "He'll have inferred by now that he was one of your spies."

"You think his assumptions would be that specific?" Seto arched an eyebrow. "Forgive my rudeness, but…"

"No, he's right." Bakura glared harshly at his clenched fists. "Anubis is nothing if not intelligent. I…Marik of all people would…understand this."

"Yes. I would."

The blonde's voice was as deadpan as ever. However, his lips twisted into a cruel if subtle smile.

"Well then how should we approach it?" Jounouchi—oblivious to the others' discomfort—tapped his foot impatiently.

"Yes," Seto agreed, turning his cold stare on Marik. "What do you suggest?"

"Bakura must reveal himself. However, before this, Anubis must be killed." Marik was unperturbed by the High Priest's glare, and Akefia noticed—with something akin to bitter pride—that this seemed to ruffle him.

Seto cleared his throat. "I understand, of course, what you are saying. With Anubis dead, the rebels will be in chaos, all too grateful to follow Bakura when he presents himself."

"That is correct."

Bakura nodded. Mariku's opinion, as it so often did, proved valuable. "I'll take on the responsibility of killing him myself."

"You?" Touzouko stood unsteadily in the doorway, bandages bloodied but glowing with the powerful vitality of one living just outside Death's reach. "The right is yours?"

Bakura did not reply. What the Thief King said was true. If anyone should have the privilege of killing Anubis it was Mariku. However, he could not shake the guilt, the need to redeem himself…if in no one's eyes except his own. "When the moment arises, one of us will step forward."

Touzouko merely grinned at him before his grey eyes shifted quite suddenly to the priest. "You're Akunadin's brat, then?"

For a moment Seto's stoicism slipped into astonishment. "…y-yes."

"And he betrayed you?"

"Yes."

"And the Pharaoh?"

"I do not…do not see what this has to do with…"

"What I mean to say is this. If by some grace of the gods we manage to defeat Anubis, what do you plan on doing?"

"I plan on rebuilding Abydos and…"

"About us." Touzouko smiled grimly, legs quaking in torment. "We are enemies of the state. If we survive, it will be your duty to arrest us."

"That is correct, as it was the state's duty to save Abydos." For a moment the High Priest's already formidable stature seemed to distort and grow. His visage hardened, eyes like cerulean stones still burning with the fires from which had been forged. "I believe,"—his voice was unmoving and wooden like the rest of him—"that this situation calls for a little _leniency._ Don't you agree?"

"If by leniency you mean you'll let us go, then yes. I do agree."

Despite himself, Bakura could not muster the strength to be relieved by what the High Priest had decreed. He did not wish to think of what came after killing Anubis. It was as if Fate, no, something too haphazard and beautiful to be Fate, had led him to this moment. Everything cumulated here. There was no past, no present, no thoughts of the future or what came after, yet he saw no End either. Whenever Bakura pondered the meaning of his particular existence he started at the Beginning…and got no further.

The Beginning of course was Mariku, and Mariku—having never once left Akefia's thoughts—was a Beginning that endured forever.

This fact the lord of Baranis understood, and still it baffled him. It seemed to him that they were rushing into darkness—godless darkness according to Mariku—to some gruesome, fantastic finale that had yet to be revealed. But how could they reach a finale when they had only just begun?

_Perhaps this is why Marik is an atheist._

Now he wasn't even making sense, but of two things Akefia Bakura was deathly certain: Anubis would die, and he would be the one to kill him. Reaching to his belt, he fingered the Damascus dagger stolen long ago and grinned. Everything must end where it began. Perhaps this was the only purpose of existence.

* * *

-**UsuakariTOT**

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. Sadly, I have no excuse. I really like Bakura's thought process in the last part of this chapter. I made it purposely vague to show that even he doesn't understand exactly what he's thinking so why should we? Also, I'd like to say that I'm not an atheist (agnostic all the way, baby!!!) and am not trying to force the views of one on any readers. Marik's atheism is a major motif in this story, so I feel compelled to keep mentioning it. Anyway, please tell me what you think. All feedback is appreciated!**

**Please review so I can leave you long, convoluted review replies!**


	16. Thief

**Echantment**

**Chapter 16: Thief**

* * *

Had Marik any choice in the matter he would not wish to die.

This was a secret the blonde kept from most. All, in fact, though he probably would tell Touzouko if he ever thought to ask. However, as he surveyed Anubis' horde clawing at the walls of Abydos' temple, Mariku found himself wishing that nothing would ever die.

_Though I suppose if life could not be lost, it would lose all value_. All human-given value that is. What was valuable anyway except that which was deemed so by society, by religion and by those at the top? Marik turned from the battle to where the others stood plotting in the hallway. Everyone looked nervous. Hell! He was nervous…but excited also. Hot with bloodlust and impatience.

"Anticipating vengeance?" Silent as always despite the profoundness of his limp, Touzouko materialized behind Marik. His face was tense with pain, yet the thief still forced himself to stand, to hobble about on the crutch of stubbornness and little else. "Who will you kill first? Anubis or Bakura?"

The blonde laughed. "You make revenge sound business-like. It isn't like that."

"Then tell me." Touzouko's feverish breath was hot upon his neck. "Tell me about revenge."

_Revenge is terrible. Beautiful. Seductive. Frightening. It is too violent and too intoxicating. Exciting. Mad. Heady and hot and overwhelming. _

"Revenge is just another word for justice."

"Well then you'd better hurry. Justice is getting away from you."

"What?!"

Touzouko smirked softly. "Bakura has left to find Anubis. Don't you want to catch up with him?"

Marik's body tensed. His pupils, contracting dangerously, fixed themselves on the thief and would not look away. "He's left?"

"Through another one of those tunnels, yes."

"Tell me where."

The smile of the Thief King faded, and for a moment his brooding gray eyes pierced through the blonde's glare into whatever lay beneath it. "What will you do, Marik? When I have told you?"

"I'll kill them."

"And if I don't tell you, will you kill me?"

"YES!" Marik's lithe frame quaked in agitation. "Of _course_ I'll fucking kill you!"

At this Touzouko seemed to soften; he grew melancholy, but whimsically so. "At least I have that, then. It is in killing that you express your love, isn't it?"

"No." Not knowing what else to do with them, Mariku used his hands to grip the other's shoulders. "I have never in my life killed someone that I love."

"Then Bakura will be the first."

"I do not love him."

"Then myself?"

"I do not…love, Touzouko. I don't love anyone _at all_." Of their own volition, the blonde's lips pulled themselves into a contemptuous sneer. "Now take me to him."

The thief stood frozen for a moment, a bandaged statue, beautiful for all his defects, because of them perhaps. Coarse hair, scars, unshaven jaw-line. Mariku was as taken by these features now as he had been that night in Anubis' hidden garden. Here was the kind of man who followed his own code of ethics, who stole and killed and made passionate love for the pure joy of the sensation, who was cruel and collected and in his own way brutally compassionate. And accepting. Acceptance was perhaps what Marik lov…what he appreciated and sometimes hated about Touzouko more than anything. The Thief King neither approved nor dissented. He was perfectly capable of encompassing every facet of what a person was without passing judgment. Most importantly, he never tried to understand that which he could not.

It was this above all else that made Touzouko unique among men.

"You really do love him." An infuriatingly empathetic smile played once more at the Thief King's lips. "Very well. Go back to the passage by which we entered. Just at the tunnel's mouth you will find a trap door. It was through there that Bakura left us."

Marik stood. Began to walk. Tried to pass Touzouko without stopping, without even exchanging glances and, finding he could not, sighed in exasperation. "I suppose you'll want to come with me, hobble along behind as best you can."

"Of course." Touzouko smiled and reached out to touch his face. "I want to follow you to the ends of the earth, to hell and back and past the brink of death…but I won't."

Under the Thief King's touch, Mariku shivered. "Why's that?"

"Because you wouldn't allow it, and if you did you wouldn't be the Marik that I've come to love."

Love.

"Don't…don't talk of stupid things." Even as he said this, Marik knew it had always been true. Touzouko loved him, selflessly, unendingly, without jealousy and without restraint. He was not mad enough to believe otherwise, had regained enough of his mental faculties since escaping from Anubis to understand perfectly the value of such unassuming love. And how he wished he didn't! How he wished that he were still insane enough to go on believing the world was truly evil!

Truly lamentable. This tragic fall from madness.

Touzouko's soft smile never faltered. His gray, unwavering eyes had never held such forgiveness and unembittered empathy as when he pulled Marik into their final kiss. The kiss was long and deep. There was blood in it, and sadness, but also joy. Marik pulled away and—forgetting for a moment that he could not love—wondered what his life would have entailed had he not fallen into maddened, spiteful, bitter love with Bakura.

"Don't stand here." Touzouko's smile had left him with the kiss. "He's getting away from you."

"Yeah." For a moment Marik lingered, searched his brittle heart for some final words to say. "I have to go."

He left without looking back, aware of deep brooding eyes staring after him.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Malik stood between his brother and the tunnel's entrance, arms outspread, feet planted firmly on the ground. "You can't go! You're sick!"

"Malik..."

All around them was the clash and screams of war, the scent of body odor and blood alive and dead upon the breeze…yet Marik's murmured warning still cut through him like a knife.

"I-I can't do that. I won't let you die…going after Bakura."

The rage Malik had been expecting did not come. Instead, Mariku sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's better this way. Better to die on my own terms than to waste away into death."

"You won't…"

"I will die, Malik. I'm dying as we speak…go find Ryou. He probably needs you."

Malik trembled but refused to budge. He did not like the strange softness of his brother's eyes. He would have preferred anger, madness, impatience…something that suited Marik and not this strange, reflective man that stood before him. "You're not strong enough." He tried this as a last resort. "You won't make it. Not in time."

"I will." Mariku's voice was not necessarily confident. "I will if you get the hell out of my way."

Malik could hear it in his voice; Marik had spoken with the same desperate, despairing resolution that night as a child when he slipped into Malik's room, when he killed their father, when he challenged Malik to go on living and leave him alone in the desert to bleed. Determination had never seemed so heinous, valor never so terrible and cruel. But Marik was a paradox: That he was heinous was a strength. Terrible in deed, but also beauty. And cruel. So cruel it wrenched the hearts of those around him and made them hate him and love him too deeply for salvation.

"I won't see you again if I let you go. Not in this world, anyway."

"Not in any world, Malik. This is the last time."

Despite the callousness of these words, Malik could conjure up no anger. "How can you stand to be an atheist? It makes everything seem so...temporary."

"Impermanence is a good thing, don't you think? It makes us…" Here Mariku paused, coughed wetly into his fist. "It makes us appreciate what we have more…knowing it will soon be gone forever."

"The only thing you've ever appreciated is cruelty, Marik."

The older blonde laughed. "Maybe you're right. Now move."

The strength rushed from Malik's body, and at last he allowed himself to be pushed aside. He watched numbly as Mariku began to evaporate into darkness, mute with horror, rendered dumb by dolor and unshed tears. Yet—just as he was sure his grief-rusted vocal chords would never move again—words came to Malik.

"Besides Bakura, have you ever...ever loved anything…at all in your entire life?"

Marik stopped, turned so that his frail frame stood out bleakly in the darkness. His lips were pulled back into a toothless smile. His eyes were lost in shadow.

"Goodbye, Malik."

Then he was gone, and Malik was left breathing hard and shaking, too stunned even to cry. Mariku. His brother. The last of his family. The one person he had hated…and loved…more so than anyone.

"Malik! I found you!" Ryou appeared suddenly from the rising dust of the war-shook hallways. "Anubis' army has managed to enter the palace! You need a sword! A spear or something! A…Malik! Pay attention!"

The blonde allowed himself to be dragged away. It hurt—watching the tunnel grow smaller, a closing maw swallowing his brother—but it was a pain he accepted willingly. Almost thankfully. There is a primal pleasure in pain, as there is in madness, in sorrow and in cruelty. A sensation that lurks just beneath the glass of human knowing. He could hear the roar of battle growing louder. The thought that Marik was alone in all of this dried his throat with fear.

'_This is the last time.'_

"Take this."

Something heavy and cold was forced into Malik's hands. He stared at it. _A sword. _Dumbfounded by the weight and gleam of it, he gazed stupidly at the paler youth. "I don't…don't want it."

_Smack_.

Ryou struck him with so much force that Malik fell back, stunned against the wall. He stared at the boy in amazement, wondering at the terror-bolstered strength hiding in his fragile body. Pain laced the left side of his face, allowing the blonde's tragedy-fogged mind to clear.

"This is not the time…" Ryou stared down at him, tears glistening treacherously on his eyelashes. "…not the time to lose your head, Malik. Now listen. Anubis' men _are inside_ the palace. Our side has managed to stem the flow, but they'll gain the upper hand if Anubis isn't killed!"

Malik leapt forward suddenly, kissing Ryou with exceptional forcefulness on the lips. "Don't…don't talk like that, Ryou…not you…not like…" He struggled for words, for the ability to tell Ryou that he didn't like his pragmatism, his new, ungentle way of speech. What Malik cherished about Ryou was his gentleness, his acceptance, his lack of the nastiness that had come to define the blonde's world. It was unfair, perhaps, wrong of him to expect such etherealness of the boy, yet he needed something now…something not so monstrous.

"What's wrong with you, Malik?" Ryou was shaking him now, pupils dilated in mounting trepidation. "We're not safe! Anubis' men are in…"

The white-haired boy was interrupted by the pattering of feet, by a sudden volley of shouts reverberating through the palace corridors. They grew louder, more ominous, rattling the walls enough to pull Malik at last from his stupor.

"W-what is that? Why would Seto's men be running this way?"

Ryou shook his head, too terrified to speak.

* * *

Blood. Mixing in the clotted earth. Dripping from the groove of his sword. Bakura felt overwhelmed by it. It swelled up before his vision, a red sea staining his hands, his hair, his _eyes_ a muddy crimson. With the blood came flesh. Flesh both living and dead enclosing him from all sides. The heat of men and the heat of rotting corpses. It was perhaps worse than blood, for flesh has a tendency to stink.

What the lord of Baranis was doing was foolish; he was aware of this. However, it was also necessary. Anubis was not a ruler to fight on the front lines. Rather, he directed battle from the back. This was not to say he was a coward. Sadism is often accompanied by a tremendous amount of courage. Anubis simply desired control, to manipulate events from a secure point of vantage.

Which—if possible—Bakura would prevent him from doing. The ultimate goal of course was to kill Anubis. However, barring his physical ability to do this, Bakura would settle for dividing the tyrant's attention, distracting him long enough for Seto to gain the upper hand. He knew he could find him somewhere in Abydos' main temple. It was the perfect vantage point from which to carry out the city's slaughter.

The bottom line was that one of them had to die. Only by defeating Anubis could Bakura without remorse meet Mariku's gaze and only by dying in light of failure could he avoid said gaze and the derision that lay behind it.

"Bakura, lord of Baranis…it's been a while."

The moment was surreal, too perfectly wretched to be anything less than preordained. The main threshold of the temple rose before Akefia's vision and with it the monolithic, stone visages of Abydos' primary god.

Osiris. Ruler of the Dead. Torn to pieces by a jealous brother but restored to wholeness now: a monolithic statue, cold visage, stone adorned in lapis lazuli and gold. And in this death-god's shadow stood another. Anubis. God of embalming in namesake…but deviant in nature. The antithesis of godliness. A sham.

"I had thought I would have to search for you." Anubis spoke from behind a large, toothy leer. "But it seems you are one who welcomes death."

Bakura smirked tacitly at the words of the Rebel King. _Cheap_, he thought. Anubis' hate-filled speeches had long ago lost their potency.

The Rebel King beckoned the lord of Baranis with the tip of his bloodied sword. "No words, eh? Well I suppose speechlessness is all too befitting of a traitor."

This time Bakura deigned to reply. "I am no more a traitor than you are, Anubis. Or have you forgotten Mahaado's death?"

At this Anubis laughed out loud. "Never one for formalities, were you? Well, then." He pulled his brawny body into a fighting stance. "Come to me."

If Bakura was afraid, he did not show it. If he feared death, the thought was brutally repressed. His strengths were those of speed, of agility and a manipulative fighting style that took advantage of—with a somewhat lax regard for chivalry—his opponent's weaknesses. It was with these strengths that Akefia met Anubis' pure physical power and indomitable spite. They met in a clash of contradictions, two profoundly different forces grappling for supremacy. It was not a glorious battle; none are. Theirs was merely an affair of glancing swords and hatred.

The temple was huge and empty. The stone god towering above them remained indifferent to the affairs of the humans playing at his feet. The world, it seemed, refused to acknowledge that this was the final showdown. The battle between evil and worse than evil coming at last to a head. Even in his dire situation, the irony of this did not escape Bakura. This was the moment of redemption he had longed for, that he had been awaiting since the day he betrayed Marik…maybe even since the day he first laid eyes on him. The lure of absolution taunted the lord of Baranis, consumed him too completely…yet, where was Mariku? Where were his bitter glare and mocking laughter? His maddened logic? His brilliant frailty? The object of Akefia's obsession. Of his ingrained and selfish love.

A piercing pain forced Bakura back into reality, reminded him that he was better off fighting than pining the absence of a man for whom he held a hating sort of love. Anubis' blade had clipped him rather badly in the arm.

"Not as quick as I'd remembered."

Bakura sneered and licked the dribble of blood running down his wrist. It tasted like iron and salt and reminded him keenly of why he longed to stay alive. "Don't take it to heart, Anubis. We all get lucky."

The truth was, Anubis had not been lucky. Bakura was not as fast as he once had been. Weeks of travel and inner torment were wearing on his body. However, thinking—almost jealously when he considered how it had affected Marik—of Touzouko's newly battered body, the lord of Baranis found himself unable to complain. He would fight and he would win.

Or die wretchedly in the attempt.

The next blow landed fell again against Akefia's favor. Anubis backed him up against the god's statue and, brute strength winning against speed in such close quarters, dealt him a blow in the ribs with the hilt of his sword. Bakura wheezed and reeled back in pain. He could actually feel the bones breaking, buckling inwards towards his vital organs. Had they punctured his stomach? His liver, maybe, or, god forbid, his lungs? Not knowing what else to do, Bakura leapt backwards onto Osiris' foot.

The stone from which the god was hewn was rough…good for balance…and too tall for Anubis to clamber easily onto. Bakura also had the sudden advantage of height and for this, most of all, he was grateful. Surveying the Rebel King's actions was much easier now, avoiding his sword strokes actually simple. Akefia was able to dodge each thrust and, when Anubis took a low swing at his ankles, pinned his sword beneath his foot.

Bakura could actually witness the shift from bloodlust to horror that occurred on the Rebel King's face as he raised his blade for the final strike. The other's weapon still held neatly beneath his feet, the lord of Baranis paused, sword poised above his head. Never had he imagined Anubis could appear so mortal, but now, at the brink of ultimate defeat, fear of death revealed in the man a humanity long buried by a lifetime of cruelty.

However, whether he killed a man or a monster was not something with which Bakura was concerned. Looking upon Anubis, he saw only Marik's thin, scarred body, a body that had continued to love him long after the blonde's mind was seared by hate. After staring at the Rebel King's stricken visage for but an instant, Akefia brought down the sword with all his strength.

Anubis' eyes grew impossibly, bulbously wide as the blade sunk deeply into the junction of his neck and shoulder. His body reeled, blood—strangely brilliant in the orange-ish light of sunset—spraying from his body in a rush of vitality and crimson anguish. Bakura, still standing on the Osiris' foot, watched him stagger and fall to his knees—shocked into immobility, himself, by the realization of his success. Anubis' eyes stared past him now and—quite to Bakura's surprise—lit up suddenly. He reached out weakly, attempted to form words around the blood leaking from his mouth. Then he coughed, great frame shuddering with each convulsion until—dulled eyes still gazing in the direction of the dusk-drenched battlefield—the Rebel King slumped lifeless to the ground.

Bakura did not turn immediately. He had no desire to view the specter that had held Anubis' gaze for the last instant of his brutal life, but this was the end of their story, the climax of a tale steeped in betrayal, vengeance, and too much blood. He had to face it.

"Marik."

The blonde stood at the entrance to the holy chamber. Silhouetted against the setting sun, his face was, as ever, a picture of haughty loveliness and disdain. His hair glowed gold around him, more radiant by far than the hewn god for whom the temple had been erected, and his eyes—insane, stunning, and exceptionally hatful—were still fixed on those of his dead tormentor.

It wasn't until this moment that Bakura realized how much he'd truly stolen from Mariku. His freedom, yes. His dignity…most certainly. But also his heart…his heart and his revenge. Revenge. A craving deep-seated both in Man and the divine. After, staring into the eyes of Anubis' corpse for what felt like an eternity, Marik turned to the lord of Baranis with a broken smile.

"Thief."

"Don't worry. I won't ask for forgiveness."

"You never have. I'm thankful for that, Akefia."

Bakura felt a smile of his own tugging on his lips. "I suppose this is it, then. No reneging on your promises."

"Just make sure that you don't let me win." Kneeling, Marik wrenched Anubis' sword from his still warm fist. The blade was large and undoubtedly heavy, yet the blonde's thin arm held it with unnatural strength. "I want to see you struggle."

Leaping back to earth, Bakura held his own weapon aloft. His body still ached from sparring with Anubis. However, considering Mariku's wasted condition, he judged their strength—physical strength, that is—to be roughly equal. "Don't worry." He couldn't keep the smile up. "I wouldn't dream of it."

They threw themselves into battle as passionately as they had so often into sex. Shoulder to shoulder. Swords quivering against each other. Faces barely the width of a palm apart. Each held the other's gaze unflinchingly, hungrily searching the other's eyes for something lost in the translation of their acrid, burning love. Marik and Bakura were at last forced to confront the fact that theirs was a rapture that transcended both love and hatred. There was no word now that could describe their connection. Even the all-holy Being towering above—eyes gazing fixedly ahead, unknowing, uninterested—with all his knowledge of Life and the Beyond remained silent in the face of such an all-consuming, human brilliance.

Bakura, superior to Marik in terms of weight, managed to push the blonde back, causing him to stumble on and overturn a guttering lamp onto the purple carpet at Osiris' feet. The tallow-fed oil devoured easily the soft damask, spreading outwards and up into the drapes the surrounded the god's statue.

Fire surrounded them, hemmed them in the sanctuary like two living, bleeding idols. Marik wondered if this was how Touzouko had felt as a child in the burning village of Kul Elna. Bakura was simply reminded of the blazing sun that had risen that very morning when they made love for the final time. The heat surrounding them was now unbearable, but somehow they resisted it and continued fighting.

Backed up against the wall of fire, Mariku struggled to hold his ground. His cloak was smoldering and without so much as a thought, the blonde tore the garment off and cast it to the ground. He was left completely naked, scars exposed, bare skin overwhelming Bakura so much so that he was able to gain some ground upon the paler man. The burning light that surrounded them lent Marik's body a red, hellish sheen—his eyes, a terrifying blackness. There was nothing natural about him now, only rage and a human madness that spared no one…least of all its creator. Bakura found himself being driven back, back to Osiris, king of the Dead, back to the wall of smooth, now hot stone that served as the throne of the undead deity.

The lord of Baranis watched Marik's lips move as he spoke yet heard nothing save the flame's roar. He realized now that they were completely surrounded by fire, doomed to burn in death as they had in life, struggling always against each other…if only to distract themselves from the greater dangers that would inevitably overtake them. It seemed funny, funny enough to laugh at, but Bakura's ability to do was spirited away with the oxygen sacrificed to feed the inferno they were trapped in.

In place of air, the fire gave them smoke. It stung their eyes, entered their noses and throats and itched sadistically at their wounds. Marik's weak lungs reacted violently. Consumed by a bought of bloody coughs, he allowed his sword to fall…and Bakura did not hesitate to take advantage. He acted on instinct—higher thought would have weakened his resolve—, on reflexes so tried and true they were now hardwired in his cruel, war-loving brain.

Marik's expression did not change as the paler's sword was driven into his shoulder. His eyes remained fixed on Akefia's, his lips pulled permanently back into an angry grin as his own blade slipped from his nerve-damaged fingers. The wound was not necessarily a fatal one. However, it was deep, the blood that welled up from it much darker than any human's blood should be.

In Bakura's brain, astonishment slowly overcame the drive to fight. He had wounded Marik, his untouchable but unbearably touched Marik. The man who made madness an art-form, who was able to create beauty out of what had become tarnished and depraved.

"Mariku, I…"

Akefia's words were torn from his throat as the now unarmed blonde lunged at him. For a single, insane instant it seemed as if Marik would embrace him. However, a sudden, brilliant pain in Bakura's gut revealed his true intentions.

The Damascus dagger. He had forgotten. The small, well-crafted weapon that had first pitted their destinies against each other…that would inevitably be the instrument that ended their bloody, star-crossed tale. Marik must have seen it—or merely sensed its presence—glinting in the folds of Bakura's robes.

"It's over, Akefia."

It was only now that he could feel the life slipping out of him that the lord of Baranis became aware of his own immeasurable sorrow. Like Marik—though less outspokenly—he believed in neither the afterlife nor the gods. The only existence Bakura was aware of was cruel and all too temporary. He hated to think, yet knew with certainty, that this was the last time Marik's gaze would hold is own.

Yet there was some joy as well. In dying, Bakura was forgiven, if not by Marik then at least by himself. _A kiss, though, would be nice_. A final parting gesture immortalizing, if not the soul, at least the knowledge that they once had been in love.

The kiss, of course, was not to be. Akefia Bakura died beneath the coldness of Mariku's stare.

* * *

The battle for Abydos was over. Anubis' army, headless now, had fled, and all that remained of the city was corpses and ash. However, a mighty roar—this time of fire and not dying men—could still be heard. It came from Osiris' temple, where the god's finery was being melted down and burned.

Despite Malik's warnings, Ryou approached the burning temple. He had been forced to shake the blonde in order to do so. He didn't want him to see what they both knew would be there.

The first body the young Bakura stumbled upon was that of Anubis. It was partially burned, but through the acrid smoke, Ryou could still tell that the facial features were still intact. The dead man's final thoughts, captured by rigor mortis on his face, must have been interesting. There was fear in his eyes, in his twisted lips and clenched jaw…but also a measure of something more incredulous. Not surprise necessarily. Peace, most certainly not. But a sort of keen wonderment, a knowledge of the unknowable still lingering in the empty expression of a well-deserved death.

A shadow in the flames ahead drew Ryou's attention away from the fallen tyrant's corpse. He knew what lay before him, beyond the veil of fire and melted gold. However, what lay at the feet of Osiris' statue still shook him to the core.

Two specters. One dead. The other nearly so. Naked. Clothes either discarded or burnt away. Surrounded by a wall of fire in a final, tight embrace.

"A-Akefia!"

Upon hearing Ryou sob the name of his dead brother, Marik turned to him. Blood leaked from his lips and down his arm as he clung determinedly to Bakura's corpse. His face did not change as he met Ryou's gaze. Triumph was the only word that could describe the expression found there. Triumph born of loss and pain, of regret and self-denial and lust…but triumph still. Mariku at last had won.

And despite this, despite the fact that this wreck of humanity had slain his brother, Ryou could not bear to see him die. "Marik!" he screamed. "You idiot! What are you waiting for? There's still time to esca…"

The blonde turned back to Akefia's corpse, back to the inferno, to the agonizing, radiant death that would compliment all too well his equally violent life. Ryou stared with a mounting sense of horror at Marik's back, at the scars his father had left there so many years ago. Beneath them he could just barely discern the faint markings of the tombkeepers' insignia, the same insignia he had run his hands over on Malik's back many times before.

Malik. Malik who was still alive, still waiting for him somewhere in the ruins of Abydos.

It was this thought alone that allowed Ryou to escape the burning temple, to tear himself from the spectacle of Marik and Bakura's twisted, deadly love and leave before he too was consumed by flame. He turned and ran, sprinted for the entrance with all the strength his weary body now possessed. However, upon reaching Anubis' body he skidded to a halt. There was an act still that must be carried out.

* * *

When Ryou emerged from the temple, a startled murmur swept the crowd of survivors huddling around it. He was limping and covered in ash, hair matted, delicate body rendered somehow monstrous and towering by the grisly trophy dangling from his hand.

Jounouchi balked.

Seto nodded in approval.

Touzouko was nowhere to be seen.

And Malik cried. Malik cried because the severed tyrant's head hanging from Ryou's fist meant that the battle was theirs…but also that Marik and Bakura would not return. Should it not be Akefia instead of Ryou emerging victorious from the burning temple? And should not Mariku be accompanying him? Hateful and bitter but present nonetheless? No. It was Ryou. Ryou alone. Ryou the man he loved, whose once warm eyes had now grown prematurely old.

Ryou, lord of Baranis.

* * *

Surrounded by flames, choking from smoke, Marik gazed at Akefia's vacant face and felt horribly alone. No light. No soul. Just empty and hopelessly dead. No longer bound to him by life or vengeance, all the blonde could do was cling to what remained. Death, Marik surmised, was terrible. There was no justice in it. To live, to experience everything of pain and hope and joy and hate and love, and then to lose it all, to die and have wiped out every memory, every achievement and regret. How meaningless. How unbearably and wretchedly without a point.

_That's why men believe in gods. So all they work towards will not seem such a waste._

At this, Mariku laughed. Not with derision for once, but with empathy. He understood. He didn't want to but he did. To exist was not enough. Humans needed purpose. His purpose had been to kill Bakura, to destroy the man whose own reason for living should have been—in a twisted way, probably was—to love him despite his glaring, overriding faults.

Their self-imposed destinies had been fulfilled. One had killed. The other had died loving a monster. There was no more reason to go on living. However, death by fire was not something Marik welcomed. After a life of pain, the end he desired was not one of such unrelenting agony. Instead, he chose the dagger. Though covered in Bakura's blood, it was still sufficiently sharp.

Mariku's hand did not shake as he placed the blade against his throat. Nor did his eyes return to Akefia's face for a final farewell glance. He was not afraid, and—rather than gaze with nostalgia into the eyes of a corpse—he preferred to glare up into the empty face of the stone idol, to sneer at Man's frailty in contempt as, without so much as a hint of hesitation, he slid the dagger easily through the muscles, flesh, and tendons of his throat and fell lifeless to burn beside the only man he'd ever loved.

* * *

**A/N: There she be. The final chapter. Well, actually I'm planning to write an epilogue, but this is the last you'll see of Marik and Bakura. I can't help feeling their ends were fitting, but please tell me what you think. Thank you for being patient with my slow updates. Your support is appreciated more than you'll ever know.**

**Please Review.**

**-UsuakariTOT**


	17. Epilogue

**Enchantment**

**Epilogue**

**

* * *

**

Heedless of the sun-baked air and blistering sand, a lone traveler limped across the desert. No breeze ruffled his pale, blood-matted hair; no bruised-eyed, gold haired specter shambled along beside him. Even Touzouko's horse was gone.

But here he was: the King of Thieves who had only once found something he could not steal. Though Abydos was two days' walk behind him, Touzouko could still smell the remnants of its battle—flesh and smoke and broken sandstone—on the air.

_Two days in the Sahara, and not a drop of water._

This alone would kill most men, but Touzouko was not most men. Like Marik, he had the ability to go on living when to do so was neither conceivable nor prudent. However, also like Marik, such luck—if so it should be called—could not endure forever. Eventually, the King of Thieves would die.

_Once again, like Marik._

After parting ways with the blonde, Touzouko had, himself, slipped back into the battle. He didn't fight, didn't stop to help Malik or Ryou or any of the other unimportant, little people that Mariku's angry light had so outshone. Instead, he tracked down Akunadin to Anubis' tent…

…and dropped him dead in the sand like flea-bit dog.

_The man didn't even struggle. Too horrified, I guess._

Touzouko was admittedly disappointed in the lack of euphoria induced by his revenge…and to a certain extent he blamed Mariku. The blonde had played up vengeance as some sort of spectacular rapture, like rich wine mixed with physical pain and violent sex. However—as with many things in life—the thief found killing the man who killed his village something of an anticlimax.

But then, not much excited Touzouko. He got off on stealing, on fighting, and—of course—on having sex, yet he knew such pleasures were temporary. Not once had the Thief King experienced the wholesome, long-term happiness people were supposed to want.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he just didn't want it.

Whatever it was Touzouko _did _want, it was not to be wandering alone in the desert. He had been stupid to leave Abydos. However, facing Mariku's death would have been infinitely more horrible. The thief had seen many humans die, had killed many himself…yet even the vaguest thought of looking into the eyes of the blonde's corpse unmanned him, made his stomach cramp and his testicles shrivel in upon themselves. No. In Touzouko's mind Marik would go on living, absent from the thief's life perhaps…but still out there, spitefully alive.

_In another life…in a world less cruel than this one…we could made things work._

The fact that this was true, that in a world without Bakura and with a much less broken Marik Touzouko and the blonde might have had something, hurt far more than wishful thinking ever could. What the thief felt for Marik indeed _was _love and what Marik felt for him—though not love—had maybe been close enough to it to one day bridge the difference. They could have made it work. They could have…

But if Marik had been anything other than the bitter, broken, revenge-crazed man that he was, if he had not lusted so tragically for his beloved's death…would Touzouko have fallen in love with him? Without his obsession for Bakura and the torment of his past, the blonde would not have been what he was.

_And I would not have felt this way._

Finally overwhelmed by thirst, Touzouko stumbled in exhaustion to his knees. He laughed soundlessly at his fate's sick irony. _If I believed in gods—_he realized that, thanks to Marik, he no longer did—_this is the point at which I would surely curse them._

_His scars. He never did explain them to me._

Touzuoko collapsed face first onto the earth, heedless of the white-hot sand that burned his cheek. There was so much he did and did not know about Marik. The thief was a fool, really—not as strong, not as logical as he should have been. He deserved to die here…though not to die alone.

_Let's pretend for a moment that the gods exist, that when I die I will enter the afterlife and see him again. What will Marik say?_

**_You're a damn fool, Touzouko._**

_"You too. Wasting your life like that."_

_Laughter. **I won't argue there. **_

_"So are you disappointed?"_

**_By my revenge? Of course not. It was brilliant._**

_"Not because of that. Because you were wrong…about the gods, I mean. See, we still exist."_

_Silence for a moment._

_Then more laughter._

* * *

Touzouko woke suddenly. It was night—starless and moonless and, thus, too dark to see a blasted thing. The thief brushed his fingers against his cheek. They came off wet, and for one weird, twisted second he thought that he'd been crying. Then the world reasserted itself, and he saw that it was raining.

Desert rain.

So rare.

So impossible.

Like a gift—or curse—sent by the gods.

_I guess I'm not going to die just yet. _And for a hopeless moment the Thief King felt abandoned.

Still, instinct won out over emotion in the end. Cupping his hands, Touzouko waited for the raindrops to accumulate before drinking deeply. The water trickled down his sun-parched throat, burning so that he coughed a little.

Then coughed harder.

And harder.

And then he could taste it, Mariku's parting gift.

_Blood._

Touzouko smiled a little. Somehow, he no longer felt quite so alone.

* * *

**-TOT **

**A/N: There it is—the long put off epilogue. Thank you to those who have so graciously reviewed and put up with my sporadic updates. I am tentative making promises (because I always seem to break them) but I also plan to finish By Definition Evil as well as my Death Note fic. Thank you for your patience and support and—though I don't deserve it, having been away so long—I will greatly appreciate any reviews.**

**I hope you like the ending. I purposely didn't dwell on Touzouko's revenge and, by having vengeance disappoint him, tried to show how different the thief king's personality is from Marik's. Of all the characters in this story, I sympathize with Touzouko the most…unrequited love sure is a bitch. Anyway, please let me know if this turned out well.**

**Thanks!**


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